


Evil in your Eye

by Airie



Series: Evil in Your Eye [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Drama, Flashbacks, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Memories, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Revenge, Slow Burn, Vampires, old flame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24220765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airie/pseuds/Airie
Summary: Dio, the Vestige and also resentful progeny of Count Verandis Ravenwatch, confronts his sire after his centuries-long slumber is disturbed by Mannimarco and his Worm Cult.Set during the events of Rivenspire zone story with bits of the Main Quest. Stay tuned if you like angsty vampire ex-husbands, slow burn and redemption arcs.
Relationships: Verandis Ravenwatch & Male Vestige, Verandis Ravenwatch/Vestige
Series: Evil in Your Eye [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787221
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

_There’s an evil in your eye  
There’s a weight upon your mind_

Rivenspire was never known for its serene landscape or pleasant climate. Everything about the bleak, inhospitable land screamed ‘doom, gloom and despair’. The recent addition to the already oppressive picture, in the form of ominous red clouds circling the peak known as the Doomcrag, felt right at home. 

Count Verandis Ravenwatch couldn’t take his eyes off them. He spent hours standing alone in the same spot at his castle’s grand porch, his thoughts occupied by the events that recently unfolded atop of the craggy spire. How did this disaster happen, despite his best intentions? Could he had done something different? Who else is going to suffer the consequences of his actions? He felt he was missing something, some vital detail that kept eluding him. 

To put it simply, he was tormenting himself. 

“Stare all you want, it’s not going to go away.” Adusa-daro warned, appearing next to him, concern evident in her voice despite her nagging tone. 

Count Ravenwatch welcomed his second in command with a weary smile. She was good, he almost didn’t hear her approach. Perhaps soon she will finally be able to sneak up on him undetected? 

“You’re right. And yet I can’t help it. It’s almost as if it’s calling out to me.” He spoke, finally turning his attention away from the looming threat. 

“Bah!” Adusa rolled her eyes. She loved the man, but he could get so dramatic at times. “You will think of something, you always do. Now come, it’s been weeks since you spent some time with me and the little one.” She beckoned, hoping he wasn’t in one of his sullen, stubborn moods. 

“Was it?” He wondered, recollecting how many days had passed since the incident atop of the Doomcrag. Too many, he recalled and immediately felt guilty for neglecting his daughters. Adusa could handle being left alone for longer periods of time, but Gwendis… 

“The little one will soon start clawing at furniture to get your attention.” The Khajiit vampire curled her upper lip in a grimace resembling a smirk. “This one prepared cards. Take your mind off your troubles for just one evening, it will do you good.”

At first the Count wanted to politely decline the offer, he couldn’t afford careless parlor games whilst Rivenspire was on the verge of destruction. But the adamant look in Adusa’s eyes told him he should come now, unless he wanted to spend the rest of the evening arguing. He exhaled a small, defeated laugh, letting the Khajiit take him by the hand and lead back inside. 

\---

Gwendis was sitting at the gaming table and building a tower of carefully stacked cards. She looked cute the way she crossed her brows and bit down on her upper lip, focused on her task. 

“Finally!” She welcomed them with a pout, almost done with her handiwork. “I was beginning to think he jumped off the balcony or something.” 

Adusa let out a low, displeased grunt. The Bosmer was too mouthy for her liking, she should see to it that Gwendis learned to hold her tongue. But this was their moment of leisure, so she would let it slide this time. She fell into her favorite chair, the impact causing the tower to collapse, sending cards sliding off the table in a colorful cascade. The youngest vampire hissed, ducking under the table to retrieve them. 

Verandis ignored the display, joining Adusa at the table. Making himself comfortable he realized that it has been indeed quite some time since he last visited the parlor or spent some time with them. Gwendis brought into their family much needed energy, whilst Adusa was the perfect advisor and confidant. He loved them both to death, if only he could give them more attention, despite his many responsibilities… There it was, he was torturing himself again. He commanded himself to stop, before he spoiled the mood for his daughters. It was the least he could do for them for the time being – just enjoy a few moments of careless fun. 

Once all the missing cards were gathered the three of them played a few relaxed games, chatting and laughing until the old brass clock in the main hall struck midnight. Verandis hadn’t noticed how the hours flew by. To think he could have spent them standing outside in the cold and dark, determined to brood and torture himself. He could not deny his role in Rivenspire’s recent troubles, but he needed this moment of respite with those he loved and trusted. 

“My lord.” Kallin, their loyal servant and favored blood donor, entered the parlor visibly nervous. “You have a guest.”

“At this time?” Verandis put his cards down, whilst his children exchanged suspicious glances. “Well, who is it?”

“A Dunmer. I’ve never seen him before, but he said you know him very well.” Kallin explained, looking over his shoulder as if the unexpected guest was going to pop up behind him at any second. “He… he’s also a vampire, sire. A very angry one.”

“Thank you Kallin, I’ll go see him right away. You are relieved for tonight.” The Count said calmly, despite a bad feeling already forming in the back of his mind.

The servant closed the door behind him with a deep bow. Adusa and Gwendis folded their cards, family fun was over. Verandis stood up, then straightened his modest robe, ready to deal with the unexpected guest. 

“I’ll go get my axes!” Gwendis sprang up, ready to defend their home from this unknown intruder with tooth and nail if she had to.

“Orders?” Adusa asked, her tail swishing like it always did when she was assessing whether a situation demanded a violent resolution. 

“Let’s not be hasty.” Verandis gestured at the two of them to remain in place as he headed towards the door. “I’ll go see what all the fuss is about.”

With a reassuring smile he always used when he wanted to downplay a serious situation, he left the two alone.

“No way in Oblivion I’m going to sit here idly!” Gwendis hissed, and for once Adusa agreed with the feisty little elf.

\---

Briskly, Verandis walked down the grand stairs to meet his unexpected guest. He found him waiting at the main hall. The man’s back was facing him, as the stranger was busy studying a portrait of the Count, commissioned a long time ago. Standing at the foot of the stairs Verandis could only see that the stranger was dressed in a long, iridescent red suit and had his black hair fashioned in thin dreadlocks pulled into a tall ponytail. 

The man snorted at the painting with disapproval, shaking his head. Hearing the head of House Ravenwatch approach, he turned around to face him.

Verandis froze, his hand gripping the railing hard enough for the wood to give in under his palm. He knew that face! Those high cheekbones, the long straight nose and that slim jaw. His eyes burned and his lips were pressed into a thin line, just like they used to all those years ago. But how? How was he here?! This was impossible!

“Dio.” He whispered in shock.

“Verandis.” The one named Dio spoke, crossing his arms and tilting his head to the side. “Or is it Count Ravenwatch now?” He inquired with an unpleasant grin, showing off his fangs. “You’ve been busy.”

“How are you-?” Verandis asked in disbelief, confronted by a ghost from his past. 

“How I am here?” Dio interrupted, slowly approaching the host, reveling in the confrontation he sought out for so long. “Oh, the look on your face is priceless! You weren’t expecting me, did you?” He paused inches from the much taller Verandis, glaring daggers at the Count. “Coldharbour couldn’t hold me, so now you’ll have to deal with me personally.” He hissed, taking a step back, gesturing at the great doors of the castle. “Come outside and let’s have it over with!”

“Dio…” Verandis chose his words carefully, watchful of any sign of impending violence. “I am not going to fight you.”

“Coward! First you send Mannimarco and his pathetic Worm Cult to dispose of me, instead of dealing with me yourself! And when they fail you don’t have the courage to face me?!” The other vampire yelled, rising his clenched fists in the air. 

Verandis took a grip of himself. Despite the initial shock and improbability of the situation, he had a house and family to protect. Speaking of which, hearing the commotion Adusa and Gwendis appeared at the top of the stairs, both armed to the teeth.

“Get away from him!” Gwendis warned, readying to throw one of her twin axes, aiming between the arrogant Dunmer’s eyes.

“Oh, you got yourself a brood.” Dio lowered his arms, eying the two women, his voice dripping with bitterness. “Seems you weren’t lonely for too long after getting rid of me.” 

“They are none of your concern. It’s me you want.” The Count reminded, his voice stern and firm. “This stays between us.”

Despite not needing air to live, Dio exhaled a long, tired sigh, appearing to have somewhat deflated after his outburst. He withdrew, as if just by standing too close to the Count he risked another tantrum. Regardless, Adusa and Gwendis remained alert, ready to attack at the slightest provocation.

“I’m glad we have an understanding.” The Dunmer spoke after a moment of tense silence, running his fingertips against his meticulously contoured stubble. “I came here for vengeance. I want some damned satisfaction after what you, your Master, and his lackeys put me through. But you add another insult to my injury by refusing to fight me. Very well. I was a fool expecting you to give me the slightest shred of respect.” He paused, the look he gave Verandis the very essence of resentment. “But do me this one courtesy and tell me… why have them wake me up? They could have given me to your Master while I was blissfully unaware.”

“You have the wrong idea. By all accounts, I thought you were still sleeping.” Verandis said as calmly as he could, taking a cautious step towards the man, withstanding his accusatory glare. “No one but me knew your resting place. I do not know this Mannimarco you speak of, nor do I serve the Lord of Brutality. You know I spent years distancing myself from him, and that did not change during your slumber.” He halted within arm’s reach of the other man. “I’m sorry Dio, but whatever happened to you was without my knowledge or involvement.”

That face and voice did not lie, the Count was genuinely surprised to see him. The look on Dio’s face was as if Verandis had slapped him. He opened his mouth to say something, but immediately closed it, his fists clenched and chin trembling. 

“Ashes…” He whispered, shocked at the realization his assumptions were completely wrong. “You’re not in league with Mannimarco and Molag Bal… Y-you have nothing to do with this! You didn’t send them to retrieve me! They…” He staggered back, almost tripping over his own feet. “They must have found my resting place by pure chance.” 

“What happened to you?” Verandis quietly asked, risking to reach and put his hand on the Dunmer’s shoulder. The concern in his voice enough to set the other vampire into another fit. 

“Get your hands off me!” Dio snapped, slapping the Count’s hand away. “Don’t give me that look! How dare you! Do you think it’s any less humiliating knowing you played no part in this?! I came here for revenge, but only managed to make a fool out of myself!”

“I’m sorry… I-”

“You left me Verandis!” Dio screamed, clutching his fist over his chest. “For centuries you had me sealed away like a shameful secret! And look at you now! A Count in his big castle with his pretty little concubines!”

He leapt forward unexpectedly, sinking his nails into the Count’s shoulders. Gwendis was about to jump down the stairs and intervene, but Adusa wrapped her arms around the petite Bosmer’s waist, ignoring her loud protests.

“No. This has to play out without us.” She said, struggling to keep the thrashing and cursing Gwendis in place. 

“Tell me, have you ever thought of me while you lived your happy little life? Did the thought of me rotting in that forsaken ruin ever spoiled your bliss?” Dio asked, giving Verandis a good shake. “Well?! Answer me!” 

“I never forgot about you!” Verandis swore, pain washing over his face. Despite the other man’s provocation, he refused to strike back, letting the Dunmer take out all his anger on him. After all, he deserved it. “The weight of that decision caused me more pain than you could imagine. But you know I had my reasons.”

“To Oblivion with your reasons!” Dio screamed, mustering up all his strength to push Verandis away, but the Count stood in place tall and still. “To Oblivion with you!!”

With that, the unwelcome guest vanished into a cloud of smoke and bats. With an ear-piercing screech, they circled around the room, smashing into a stained-glass window, showering the Count with shards of colorful glass. Dio was gone as unexpectedly as he arrived.

Dazed by what just transpired, Verandis shook the glass shards off himself. Did one of them just cut his face? Oh, yes it most certainly did… He wiped the red off his pale cheek with the cuff of his robe, silently peering into the shattered window frame, but he found no answers in the reddish darkness outside.

Quiet footsteps approached. Ever faithful Adusa joined the Count’s side, gently resting her clawed hand on his shoulder. Meanwhile Gwendis practically wrapped herself around his arm, spurting curses at the damned bastard who just ruined their window. 

“Come back to us Verandis.” The Khajiit quietly beckoned, pulling the Count back from a spiral of tumultuous old memories. “Yes, good. Keep looking into this one’s eyes. We’re going to get up now and head to your study. And we will talk, yes? You must tell us what just happened, all of it.”

Knowing something like this would eventually happen, Verandis Ravenwatch nodded, preparing himself to answer some uncomfortable questions about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the name is a JoJo reference. My hobbies include making joke characters, then getting hopelessly attached to them.


	2. Chapter 2

Verandis thanked his lucky stars for Adusa. The Khajiit knew when to take the lead, and when to step back to allow events unfold on their own. Like just now, when she guided her master to his study, sat him in his favorite chair in front of the lit fireplace and poured him a tall glass of the deepest and sweetest of red; blood taken from very willing and very intoxicated donors. 

Gwendis was young and impulsive, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew Verandis well enough to understand she and Adusa had to give him some time and silence, so the man could gather his thoughts. Therefore, despite every fiber of her being wanting her to remain at his side, she reluctantly joined Adusa in front of the fireplace. She reached out to warm her hands over the flames more out of habit, than necessity. As vampires neither of them felt any cold, the crackling logs were just a way of lighting up the atmosphere in the house.

The drink was good, too bad the Count couldn’t fully appreciate it, not with his mind playing the same few still images before his eyes; gnashed fangs, that accusatory glare and then the look of utter humiliation turning into blind rage. Unlike himself, Dio hadn’t changed a bit, he was still the same fiery man with whom Verandis spent one of the most intense years of his life. Funny… It was so long ago, it almost felt like another life. 

“That…” Verandis broke the silence only to immediately take another sip of his wine-laced blood. “… was Dio. The first one I ever turned.”

Adusa’s brow rose. That would explain the odd familiarity and violent range of emotions the Dunmer displayed. Vampires were almost never indifferent around their makers, either loving them like actual parents, or hating their guts.

“I lived a very… very long life.” He continued, sinking deeper into his chair. “There was a point in time where I just wandered Tamriel with no fixed direction. It was lonely, but I needed time to think. Eventually, I reached the northern shores of Vvardenfell, where small rocky islands dot the Sea of Ghosts. The locals warned me of a mad sorcerer hiding in one of the grottos, said he summoned storms if people dared get too close.” He lifted his gaze from his glass to give his daughters a shadow of a smirk. “Naturally, I was curious and had nothing better to do, so I braved the challenge. After all, what’s a little bit of rain and lightning to a swarm of bats? It took me three attempts, but I finally reached the sorcerer’s grotto. By now you probably guessed that sorcerer was Dio.”

“Did you fight him?” Gwendis asked, her curiosity peaked. Verandis almost never spoke about himself. She wanted to hear more, especially about his younger days when he wasn’t burdened with being a Count. 

“No, of course not, I would never be a rude guest. I introduced myself and revealed my true nature. I hoped the mad hermit could share some unique perspective on my condition.”

“Well, did he?” Adusa snarked, casually leaning against the stone side of the fireplace, her tail moving back and forth, betraying she was equally as curious as her sister.

“Whenever I revealed myself people would either be horrified or pray for my lost soul. But not Dio. He was fascinated by me, showed no signs of fear at all. We spent that night deep in conversation. I felt… understood. And equally intrigued, his way of thinking was so intricate. He was brilliant, if a bit blunt.”

He took a second to pause, looking away from his wards, reminiscing on better times, absentmindedly swirling his drink in the delicate crystal glass. Surprised, they both realized he was smiling, the way he never smiled – like a much younger man, someone without a care in the world.

“As dawn approached he demanded I let him accompany me on my travels. We would have surely spent another night just arguing, but I agreed without hesitation. We set off as the sun set. I cherish the memory of those years…” He heaved a sigh, his mood shifting to a more somber one, betraying that bliss did not last for too long. “Eventually, things progressed the way they naturally do when a vampire and mortal get too close. He was already entering his middle age when we set off. Elves live long lives, but what’s a few centuries against eternity?”

“So, you took him.” Adusa stated the obvious.

“He offered himself freely!” Verandis swore, almost offended. “We both wanted this and I made sure the process was as least traumatizing for him as possible, just like I did with the both of you. Though, my concern wasn’t needed, he instantly embraced being undead. I was actually astonished how well he adapted to his new nature. We spent many more years travelling, just the two of us against the world. I was happy.” He declared, though the look on his face did not match his words. “We had a connection that went beyond words. But…”

Adusa and Gwendis were all ears, waiting for the most important part – how did the two of them fall out? 

“He always had that… voracity about him. Hunger for knowledge, hunger for power. Nothing was ever enough for him, he always wanted more. He was slowly growing frustrated about not being a pureblood… unlike myself.” The Count sighed, ignoring the way Gwendis involuntarily shrugged. “As years went by, he started viewing those who would sustain us with disdain rather than gratitude. And he started viewing our quiet, secretive way of life as a waste of potential. Our usual debates took a more hostile tone. We stopped exchanging ideas, we were outright fighting.”

His glass was empty. Verandis carefully placed it on the nearby table, getting up from the chair. Ignoring his company, he crossed the room, away from the warm light of the fireplace. He didn’t want either of them to see his face during the last part of the story. Hands behind his back, he stared out the tall window, still like a statue.

“Dio was becoming a menace. Despite my best efforts, he was going down a dark path and I had no intention of following. I always thought of him as my partner, rather than my progeny. Still, I was the one who made him and he was my responsibility.” He spoke, peering past his reflection into the night. “But I didn’t have it in me to end him. And doing nothing was bound to end in a disaster. He was a talented sorcerer, but so was I. I put a powerful sleeping spell on him and hid him away in a tomb at a secluded location. Years passed, I mourned, then settled down and became the man I am today. And now he’s back. With a vengeance.” He stated, his shoulders tensing visibly. 

“Is he a threat to you?” Adusa asked, caressing her chin with her long talons, going over the possible scenarios involving the unexpected menace.

“I honestly don’t know.” Verandis said, turning away from the window. “If he really wanted to do me harm he would have already tried. I think learning I had nothing to do with his awakening caught him off guard.”

“We can’t take any risks!” Gwendis swore with fire. “I don’t care if it’s me or Adusa, you can’t leave the castle without either of us at your side!”

“This one agrees.” The Khajiit nodded. “Between Montclair and his spies, this is another risk we just can’t take.”

“Please, just because I abstain from conflict doesn’t mean I can’t protect myself. I’ll be fine.” The Count assured with dignity. “No, the both of you stop giving me that look! I am dead serious, I do not need an escort.”

Adusa said mothing, snorting a quiet snicker. Gwendis only shook her head.


	3. Chapter 3

He’s relived this moment so many times before, that by now he knows it is only a dream. And yet, he is petrified, knowing what is about to happen. He struggles, commanding himself to wake up, but the vision persists.

Ankles and wrists in chains, he is being dragged down a flight of slippery stone steps. Looking down, he sees his clothes have long rotten away, leaving him draped in crumbling rags. How long was he asleep? He can smell both stale and fresh blood coming from below, hunger arising within him despite the fear. And the screams, the hysterical, vibrating screams, each of them cut short before another one starts. 

Feebly he tries to resist, but he is too weak, only capable of making a few pathetic attempts at resistance before he is presented before him. The tall man in a dark, amethyst-adorned crown. Only Altmer could be so beautiful, and yet so sinister.

“Ah, a bloodsucker!” The man exclaims, taking him by the chin to study his pale face under the ominous light of a daedric brazier, his other hand toying with a ceremonial dagger, caked in red up to his wrist. “I do wonder, what happens when one of you is sent back to the Lord of Brutality.” His face draws closer, sick curiosity twisting his otherwise noble features. “Let’s find out.” 

The world spins before his eyes as he is pushed onto a crude stone slab surrounded by candles and glowing red symbols. An altar. And he is just another poor wretch in an endless line of sacrifices.

He struggles, but the cold hands of undead minions holding him by the ankles and wrists are unrelenting. The man in the crown holds him down by the throat, raising his dagger hypnotizingly slow. It hovers over his chest for a second as a smile creeps up the Altmer’s face. The blade’s tip reflects the light of the brazier, then strikes finding the heart. He screams through his dry throat, his fangs tearing his lips into bloody ribbons. He can feel with every fiber of his being how he is being ripped and torn beyond the physical. Something is being taken away from him. Not just his life – his very soul. 

The last thing he sees before darkness takes him are the Altmer’s eyes – wide in awe, glowing with mad passion. 

“Fascinating.” The man whispers, as a ring of risen dead draws closer to the altar, ready to feast on the sacrifice. 

He dies, but death brings him no rest. 

\---

Another dark, cold place and another figure before him. She is so petite and delicate, yet as beautiful and terrifying as the sea. Smiling almost blissfully, she crosses a shallow pool of blood, red climbing up her simple white dress. Bones crack under her feet with each step she takes. Her eyes are fixed on him, the warmth of candles reflected in their endless pools of crimson. He grovels before her like a dog, too terrified to keep looking at her, yet knowing she does not want him to turn his gaze away. She wants him to both fear and adore her. 

She halts before him and takes his face in her hands. Although the gesture is gentle, he wants her to stop immediately. Yet, he does not dare protest, silently whimpering in her grasp, powerless. 

“My poor wretch.” She says. Her voice is gentle and soft, filled with motherly love and dark intent. “What have they done to you?”

“They murdered me, Blood Matron.” He dares speak, his voice barely distinguishable from an animal’s growl. “They took my soul, my dignity, my power. I am nothing.”

“So you are.” She nods sadly, her hands moving to caress his head, bringing more fear than comfort. “The Dark Father hurt you, dishonored you. You are so pathetic and weak, my child. But I can change that.” She smiles, the tips of her fangs peeking from under her flushed lips. 

“How?” He croaks, desperately clutching at her dress. 

Her smile widens. Pleased with his neediness, she pulls him up for an embrace. Their eyes are level and he feels like he is looking into the eye of a storm. 

“Swear your loyalty to me. Pledge your unlife to defying Molag Bal and Arkay wherever you go. And in return I will grant you my favor, making you my Blood Scion. Will you do that?”

“I will!” He swears, his hands trembling. 

She laughs and he can’t help but wince. 

“Beg.” She demands, her embrace turning into an oppressive hold. “Beg for my love.”

He breaks down, sobbing, begging, swearing his undying loyalty until she is satisfied. Her fangs sink into his neck, taking what little essence he had within. Once she is done, she tosses him aside, drained and convulsing. He struggles in the red pool, bones scraping under him. Yet the only thing he is able to focus on is her extended wrist, her flesh so white, her veins dark, protruding under the skin. He crawls to her like a worm, seizes her by the wrist and drinks deep, until he is swatted away like an annoying insect.

Her blood is the richest and sweetest he had ever tasted. It burns his throat. He screams, the sound echoing through her crypt. But despite the searing pain, he can feel the power coursing through his veins. Her blood mends him whole once again, his flesh and bone not healing, but twisting into her vision. He belongs to her now, filled with her dark love. For the first time in ages, he stands up tall and proud, his fate sealed. 

“My beautiful abomination, how you shine in the dark.”

\---

He wakes up with a scream in his temporary lair – a crumbling crypt in the Sanguine Barrows. A moment passes before he realizes he is no longer dreaming. He hides his face in his hands, trying to collect himself. Dried flakes of blood dot his palms. Was he crying in his sleep? 

“Pathetic.” He grunts, clenching his fists.

His feelings be damned! He has a job to do. But first – he needs to feed.


	4. Chapter 4

A man walked with purpose through Shornhelm’s main gate as the sun was setting over a city divided. He surveyed the main square, assessing the situation. The absence of townspeople and the groups of guards patrolling the streets on high alert spelled trouble. So did the smoke rising from the upper district. The city was holding its breath for something. Something bad.

He brushed off a speckle of dust from his lapel. Despite the humiliating defeat he suffered a few nights prior he couldn’t afford to leave Rivenspire just yet. Aside from his personal goals, he had other work to do here. Hoping he wouldn’t have to cross business with his private life, Dio headed towards a building bearing the characteristic red banners of Tamriel’s Fighters Guild. 

“You do not impress this one.” A voice stopped him in his tracks. 

Annoyed, he shot a death glare into one of the obscured side alleys where a pale Khajiit woman with a red mohawk was leaning against a crumbling wall, nonchalantly flipping a coin. He recognized her from Castle Ravenwatch - it was one of Verandis’ brood. 

“You dare accost me?” He snarled. The woman’s blood smelled potent, yet he had no patience, ready to get physical if he had to. 

“This one does.” Adusa-daro confirmed unbothered, hiding the shiny coin in one of her many pockets. “Anyone can dress big and talk big. But you do not scare this one.”

“A mistake better than you made before. I made sure they never made the same mistake again.” Dio warned, taking a firmer grip of his staff. “Why do you speak to me?”

“Adusa has been following you for some time now.” She revealed casually, inspecting her claws. “You roam the wilderness, following a group of hooded figures. It does not take a scholar to know they’re cultist types. They always have that aura round them… and a particular stench. And whenever they split to set up shop, you pull out your map and make note. It’s almost as if you are waiting for them to do something. Adusa wonders what? And why do you care?”

“That is beyond your comprehension.” Dio grunted, annoyed he hadn’t noticed he had a tail for several nights. “But rest assured, it has nothing to do with you. Or him.” 

“Whatever affects Rivenspire is this one’s business. And his.” Adusa retorted patiently. “Now, what is keeping you here, walker? Why have you remained?”

Before Dio could tell the damned Khajiit to mind her own business, a fight broke out on the stairs leading to the ominous upper district. Guardsmen clashed with soldiers bearing a noble house’s crest. The fight was dirty and messy, blood slithered down the stone steps as a guard was stabbed through their worn-down leather armor by one of the noble house soldiers. They staggered back into their companions’ arms, whilst the assailant and their comrades retreated with a mocking laugh. Quickly, the wounded guard was carried off beyond the two vampires’ sight.

“I hear Rivenspire has a leadership problem.” Dio noted, ignoring the violent display.

“It does. After Mad Ranser’s war, the High King set up a triumvirate to rule over the realm. But Baron Montclair decided he no longer wants to share power with Dorell and Tamirth. His foot soldiers took over the upper district.” Adusa revealed, watchful for any reaction on the Dunmer’s face. She couldn’t ignore the possibility of him being a secret spy. 

“Glad you can still count on mortal leaders being utterly incompetent.” He muttered to himself. The more things changed the more they stayed the same. “Dorell and Tamirth, where can I find them?”

“The chapel, Countess Tamirth’s favorite haunt. Very devoted that one. But relax walker, her faith will not set you ablaze.” Adusa snickered. “This one can already tell you will go there now and speak to them, yes?” 

“And do your dirty work for you?” He scoffed, but his eyes were already drawn to the distant silhouette of the temple towering over other buildings. 

“That too. Go, this one will be watching.”

\---

Gwendis shifted to a more comfortable position atop of a balcony overlooking the chapel. She did so carefully as not to give away her position. Verandis thought he was smart leaving the castle during the day while she and Adusa we’re supposed to be sleeping. Little did he know his daughters already had a plan in motion; Adusa would tail Dio, whilst Gwendis would be watching over Verandis from a distance and make sure he was safe. Despite the unpleasant tingling of sunlight on her skin and colors too bright for her eyes, she followed the Count at a safe distance throughout the day. 

Her face drew closer to the gap between the balcony bars, observing her master argue with the nobles below. Dorell was a hotheaded arse as usual, whilst Tamirth remained her cold and self-righteous self. Damn it, why was Verandis still wasting his time trying to reason with them?

He always had that look when he knew he was fighting a lost battle; disappointed, but not surprised. Shaking his head, he withdrew from the conversation, leaving the two nobles to continue their pointless argument. Keeping a low profile, Gwendis followed him the length of the balcony until Verandis exited the chapel through a side door. She would have quickly slinked away into the shadows and followed him outside if it weren’t for the opposite side doors suddenly slamming open.

She seized the bars, watching that damned Dunmer stomp into the chapel like he owned the place. The man approached Dorell and Tamirth, rudely inserting himself into their conversation. Gwendis was thankful for the acoustics in the building, she could hear them as clearly as if they were standing right next to her.

“Who is in charge here?” The intruder asked as if he was addressing mere commoners.

“And who in Oblivion are you?” Dorell snapped, his hand not so subtly resting on his sword’s handle.

“Baron, please!” Countess Tamirth rose her hands, stepping between the two men, ready to play mediator. 

“I’m here on official business.” Dio replied impatiently, retrieving from his coat’s inner pocket a scroll bearing the official seal of High King Emeric. 

Dorell was quick to snatch the piece of parchment and began reading. After a moment he lifted his gaze in disbelief, handling the scroll to the Countess. She too skimmed the page, then stared at the stranger, unsure how to proceed. It seemed the papers the Dunmer was carrying were enough for them both to shut up for a change. Was he a clever forger or did he really have something to do with the High King? Gwendis did not like either possibility. Why was the bastard still in Rivenspire? What was he planning?

“If the King trusts you, then so do we.” Tamirth chose her words carefully, ever the diplomat. “But you must understand…”

“That whatever this threat your papers speak of is irrelevant until we get the city under control.” Dorell interrupted, as blunt as an iron gauntlet to the face. 

“Surely, you’ve seen the smoke. Shornhelm is under siege.” The Countess shook her head sadly, pressing both hands to her chest, as if fearful her heart was going to burst through. “If only we could offer aid to the trapped residents! I pray to the Light that they are safe.” 

“More pointless squabbles for me to deal with.” Dio grunted, staring at the intricate ceiling as if expecting to find some strength up there. “Fine. I’ll go to the upper district and take care of your little problem. And when I return, we can get back to discussing my business.” 

“If you return, hero.” Dorell crossed his arms, making no effort to mask his mocking tone. “Good luck.”

“May the Light guide you.”

Wasting no time, Dio marched towards the exit. Suddenly, he halted lifting his chin up, something catching his attention. He took a deep whiff, his eyes widening in response to the scent he caught. They then narrowed as he continued walking, this time slowly. He disappeared behind a column and had not re-appeared on the other side. Either he was hiding, or…

Gwendis let out a surprised curse feeling someone sniff the back of her head. Her instincts taking over, she dashed forward, pulling out her twin axes and spinning around for a confrontation, ready to hack and slash whoever dared stuff their nose in her hair.

The bastard Dunmer stood with his arms behind his back, bent forward ever so slightly. The look on his sharp face was amused and yet somehow also unimpressed.

“A fledgling.” He assessed, crinkling his nose. “Were you also spying on me, little one?”

“The world does not revolve around you, you overdressed bastard!” The Bosmer vampire snapped, furiously shaking one if her axes at him. “I hoped you gone after breaking into our castle and smashing our window!”

“Would if I could.” He said drily, straightening his back. “Sadly, I need to take care of some business before I can leave this dreadful place. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a city to liberate. Don’t follow me.”

He stepped back into the shadows, dissipating into bats and smoke.

\---

 _“I was a fool expecting diplomacy would do any good.”_ Verandis thought to himself, taking a seat on the edge of a dried-out fountain at the city’s empty market square. 

He tried reasoning with them, but neither Dorell nor Tamirth would listen. Aside from their personal animosities towards one another, the nobles simply did not trust him. Dorell, due to the Count’s past friendship with Baron Montclair. And Tamirth distrusted Verandis simply because he was a vampire. 

Both reasons were equally shortsighted as they were annoying. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” Adusa greeted, joining him at the fountain. With an aggravated sigh, she lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the last rays of the sun. Vampires of more quality stock could walk in the sunlight, but that didn’t mean they enjoyed it. “The nobles giving you a hard time?

“In more ways than you could imagine.” Verandis gave her a tired smile, though quickly gave up the act looking up at the smoldering upper city with a deep frown. “Diplomacy failed, so I’m afraid we will need to take direct action.”

“This one is yours to command.” The woman swore with fire.

“What would I do without you?” 

“You would manage. Probably not as stylish as when Adusa is at your side, but you would think of something.” She assured with a cocky grin. “Speaking of style, the Dunmer dandy is in town. This one has been tailing him for a few nights. Funny thing, your paths nearly crossed just now. He entered the chapel the moment you left. Looks like he also wanted a word with the nobles.”

“Oh?” Verandis rubbed his temples, feeling an approaching headache. Dio came back into his life in the worst possible time. Then again, was there ever a good time for a reunion between them?

“It seems the little one had a brush with him.” Adusa said, pointing her chin at fast approaching Gwendis. 

“That bastard!” The Bosmer reported bluntly, her father’s disapproving look making her realize her weapons were still drawn. “He’s up to something! I saw him trying to get Dorell and Tamirth’s ear. They blew him off, but then he shut them up with some papers. From the King!” She revealed, sheathing her axes. 

“Emeric?” Verandis gripped his staff tighter. Why would the High King give someone as unpredictable as Dio any official papers? What was going on?

“Keep your voice down.” Adusa hissed, thankful the residents were shut in their homes until the danger blew over. Still, it didn’t hurt to be careful. Spies could be everywhere.

“That man is weird!” Gwendis pouted, crossing her arms. “He sniffed me! Called me a fledgling! And then he flew to the upper district, I think he’s going to play hero!”

“What?” Verandis sprung from his seat, nervously glancing at the stairs connecting the upper and lower districts as if expecting a tide of blood to suddenly flow down in a violent cascade. “Oh, no, no, no… I’m going after him! The two of you stay here, make sure none of Montclair’s forces try taking the lower district as well!” 

\---

 _“What are you up to?”_ Verandis wondered, climbing the winding stairs as the last rays of sunlight faded over the horizon. _“What is your angle?”_

He did not like the idea of the trouble with Baron Montclair, the Ayleid artifact and Dio mixing together. He wondered, did the Dunmer know about the Baron’s true motives? Did he know about the Relic?

Dio was nowhere to be found. However, the bodies of Montclair soldiers littering the empty streets served as a clear evidence of his passing. Some bore signs of fangs and claw slashes, though the majority had wounds associated with magic. Namely, shock and fire. Shaking his head at the carnage, Verandis followed the bloody trail. He turned the corner, nearly tripping over the body of one of the corrupt city guards; the Orc Orlozag gra-Yarzol. The man laid on his back, both hands clutching a deep, clean slash stretching from ear to ear. A fresh kill, but the killer was absent. 

He kept pursuing the Dunmer until he reached an alley with a dead end. He took a whiff of evening air, catching only blood and smoke, but no scent of his quarry. The trail ended too suddenly for him to give up hope, though. The Count surveyed his surroundings, noticing an ajar sewer cover. Crinkling his nose, he got on his knees, effortlessly pushing the iron cover aside. The tunnel below smelled of stale air and fresh blood, clearly the other vampire was wreaking havoc somewhere below. 

Regretting his decision to put on robes, Verandis cautiously lowered himself down the manhole and let go.

\---

He landed in pitch-black darkness only a vampire could see through. Thankfully, wherever he landed up was dry, save for fresh splatters of blood. Focusing his vision, he made out faint outlines of a winding stone tunnel ahead, his only means of progress. Wasting no time, he followed the dark path. 

A man’s scream echoed through the tunnel. Verandis picked up the pace, hugging the wall to his side to dodge a serpentine of rats running the opposite direction with high-pitched squeaks, their furry bodies brushing against his robes.

Still, there was no sign of his quarry or Montclair forces. Yet, the tunnel was not bare, every now and then widening into small caverns showing signs of past inhabitation. The sparce furnishings, tools and bits of everyday items betrayed people have once lived down here. And suddenly Verandis realized where he was – the Fevered Mews, a cave system once used to host the city’s sick during a plague. 

The tunnel narrowed once again and took a sharp turn, leading into a wider cavern where he finally spotted his quarry. Dio was grunting, bending over a helplessly whimpering Breton man, fangs sunk deep in the poor wretch’s neck. Verandis knew the man’s face – it was Juberic Gane, second of the city guardsmen deep in Montclair’s pocket. The Dunmer sucked hard and deep, greedily enough for the mortal’s heart to give in, sending the soldier into shock. The vampire didn’t bother though, tossing the convulsing Breton aside like trash once he had his fill, letting out a pleased groan. 

Despite the post-feeding afterglow, the Dunmer sensed he was not alone. Reaching behind his back for his flaming staff, he readied lightning in is free palm. His hand clenched into a tight fist when he realized who he was up against. 

“You.” Dio hissed, fresh blood dripping down his chin. “Stay out of my business.”

“If you’re going up against Baron Montclair, then you are walking into my business.” The Count remained in place, despite the lightning in Dio’s fist growing. 

“Don’t try and stop me Varandis, too much is at stake!”

“I know. That’s why I’m coming with you.”

“I don’t need your help!” The Dunmer yelled, lightning in his hand finally breaking free, hitting the ceiling with enough force to break off a number of stalactites.

“There is no time to argue!” Verandis yelled back, conjuring a magic barrier to protect them from the falling debris. 

Their argument was suppressed before it could escalate, as a wave of Montclair forces poured into the cavern, no doubt alarmed by their yelling. The soldiers drew their weapons, their commander barked an order to attack. Setting their argument aside, the two prepared to fend for themselves. Lightning, fire and ice cut the air and several lives short. Blood splattered the stone walls, panicked screaming echoed through the cavern until the last soldier was dealt with and the two vampires were once again alone.

They stared each other down, but time was short. Resigned, Dio forced himself to look away from Verandis, leaving the cavern for yet another winding tunnel. The Count followed.

“I found a letter in the city barracks.” Dio said quietly, watchful for another ambush. “Montclair fled the city, but he left someone named Reezal-Jul in charge. I’m assuming he’s an Argonian. Do you know him?”

“I do. He’s the Baron’s advisor and personal alchemist, but there are rumors that he dabbles in necromancy as well. Before that, he was Ranser’s court mage. I have reasons to believe he was recently turned, so don’t underestimate him.” Verandis warned.

“Ah, so he is a fledgling minion.” Though Dio was walking ahead of him, based on his tone alone the Count could bet he was rolling his eyes. 

“An experienced and highly skilled one. And not quite sane.” 

As they progressed through a particularly narrow section of the tunnel the air felt different; charged with static, betraying the presence of magic. A faint red glow colored the stones just as the tunnel was taking another turn. The two men proceeded, entering a spacious cavern with several more side corridors, drowned in ominous red light radiating from a swirling portal. In front of the portal stood an Argonian clad in primal robes, conjuring from within a steady stream of Montclair soldiers. 

Hearing the two approach, he looked over his shoulder like an alert predator, the glow of the portal reflecting in his unnaturally red eyes.

“So, this is how Montclair was able to move his forces into the city! Through you and your portal!” Verandis stepped forward, pointing his staff’s tip accusatorily at the treacherous mage. 

"I have no time to deal with these fools.” Reezal-Jul hissed, gnashing his thin, needle-like teeth. “Kill them!”

Before either of them could act, he jumped into the portal leaving them to deal with a sizable threat. It was then, that they noticed the eyes of the magically conjured soldiers were also glowing red in the dark.

“They’re vampires.” Dio noted, snapping his fingers and twisting his wrist to conjure a protective aura around himself. “How is Montclair raising so many of them?” 

“I’ll explain later! For now, we have to make sure none of them can reach the city! I have to close that portal, I’ll need you to-”

Before Verandis could finish his sentence, Dio dashed forward, drawing a wide arch with his infernal staff, setting the nearest enemies on fire. Whilst they screamed and thrashed, the remaining soldiers descended upon the lone Dunmer, only to taste more flames. Shrieking, pained hissing and the smell of burning flesh filled the cavern. Undisturbed, the Count approached the burning portal.

Ignoring the fighting behind him, he drew deep from within himself, reaching forward. A stream of magic flew from his hand, connecting with the red vortex. His brows crossed as he sensed the vile magic powering it. Necromancy. So, the rumors about Reezal-Jul were true… It didn’t matter now, he had to focus on closing it, so that no more undead could pour through and threaten the people of Shornhelm.

The magic powering the portal stirred, resisting him. Verandis braced himself, outstretching his arm further, his will piercing through the dark magic, finding the core powering the teleportation spell. Sloppy work, simple and crude, yet powerful the way only vulgar magic fueled by living sacrifices could be.

He clenched his hand into a fist, then sharply pulled his arm back, ripping the spell asunder. The portal began rapidly shrinking, yet before completely disappearing it froze in the air, bursting unexpectedly. The cavern shook from the magic explosion, strong enough for bits of rock to loosen from the ceiling. 

The Count quickly rose his arm to summon another protective barrier, but one was already in place. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Dio – soaked in fresh gore and clearly unamused, his hand maintaining a steady ward, until last shards of rock bounced off its surface. 

“No survivors.” The Dunmer stated drily, dispersing the spell. “We’re done here.” 

“No, we are not done until I get some answers. Why are you still in Rivenspire? And what does the High King have to do with it?”

Anger flashed through Dio’s face. He knew that tone. That damned ‘I need you to tell me everything you are doing, so I can assess whether it is dangerous or not’ tone Verandis always had whenever he would be poking his nose into his plans. 

“Word travels fast.” He hissed, connecting the dots. “Your little spies are quick.”

“They are my daughters, not spies.” Verandis stated, withstanding another accusatory glare, despite it feeling like a knife in the chest. “And if they were keeping an eye on you, they did so on their own accord.”

“Touching.” Dio summed up, maneuvering to slink into one of the side corridors, but damned Verandis kept blocking his path, adamant to keep him in place like a scolded child.

“Why are you still in Rivenspire?” Verandis kept pressing, unsurprised to see that Dio remained as stubborn as he remembered. But that didn’t matter, he was ready to spend the entire night in this forsaken cavern if he had to.

“Are you challenging me?” The other vampire grunted before he could think.

“I don’t have to.” The Count stated calmly. “But you are welcome to test yourself against me, if you so desire.”

Dio’s eyelid twitched. That was not an empty threat, they both knew that if he dared strike he’d regret it the next second. The Count had the advantage of centuries over him… and he was a pureblood. Despite taking in the blood of the Matron, the Dunmer was still just recently awoken. He doubted Verandis would kill him, but his pride would never recover from the defeat. 

“Why do you always have to make things difficult for me?” He sighed rubbing his temple, his anger deflating. “I have a mission to carry out and I want to see it through without you looking over my shoulder. Then, I want to leave this place and never come back. Can I at least have that?”

Despite the Dunmer’s frustrated outburst, the Count was not deterred. He had a suspicion that whatever this mission was, it no doubt had something to do with the reason Dio was awakened and the man named Mannimarco he mentioned back at castle Ravenwatch. Although he knew Dio did not want his aid, Verandis still wanted to help in whatever way he could. But first he needed to know exactly what was going on and what was at stake. Yet, a normal conversation was out of the question with how much bad blood brewed between the two of them. 

“Dio…” Verandis’ voice fell to a sigh. “Whatever this mission is, you don’t have to do it alone.”

“I do. Because it’s personal.” The Dunmer crossed his arms, standing painfully straight and fighting a clench in his jaw. “Now stop looking at me like that, pity is the last thing I want from you.” 

Verandis opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the two of them heard commotion coming from the tunnel they entered. Simultaneously, they reached for their staves, prepared for another fight.

No violence was needed however, as the soldiers that entered the cavern did not wear Montclair colors. Instead, they bore the crest of King Emeric’s Lion Guard. 

“Ashes…” Dio grunted, lowering his weapon. “Emeric is already here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware the chapter does not follow the game to the letter, but hey - fanfiction is transformative by design and sometimes you have to rearrange a few things for the story to flow more naturally.


	5. Chapter 5

The Lion Guard broke their tight formation, allowing two men to step forward; a handsome dark-haired Breton and a tired-looking Orc in battered armor.

“You owe me a drink Skordo!” The Breton laughed lightheartedly as they approached the two vampires. “I told you the party would be long over before we arrived.”

To the Breton’s open amusement, the Orc named Skordo and Dio simultaneously let out a dismissive snort. Verandis settled for a polite smile. 

“You talk too much for your own good, Darien.” The Orc stated bluntly, taking a good look at the carnage. His nose crinkled and his upper lip curled up as he studied the patterns of splattered blood. Once he had his fill of the gory spectacle, he shifted his attention to the Dunmer. “Though I have to hand it to you bloodsucker, you are efficient.”

“I know.” Dio replied drily, his displeasure at the Lion Guard’s arrival as clear as day. “Let me guess, His Highness is at the chapel and wants to see me?”

“Actually, he wants to see you both. We were sent here to assist you with liberating the city, but you clearly got that covered, so we’ll just set on delivering you to the King.” The Breton cut in before addressing Verandis. “Count Ravenwatch, I presume? I am Darien Gautier, my friend here is Skordo the Knife. It will be our honor to escort you, your grace.” 

“Just to be clear,” the Orc chimed in, stepping before the charismatic Breton, “I’m not with them. I just came here ‘cause I heard there’s gonna be a fight.” 

“Gautier?” Verandis asked intrigued, brushing the quickly drying blood off the front of his robe. His effort was futile though, he would never get the stains out. “Are you by any chance related to Sylvain Gautier?”

“That’s… my great-great grandfather, your grace.” The man confirmed, puzzled. Although an Elf, the Count did not seem that old. “Long dead, I’m afraid.”

Skordo and Dio locked eyes. They needn’t words to express what they were both thinking about their respective travel companions. Obviously, nothing pleasant. The sooner they got this whole affair over the better. Preferably, with as little idle chatter as possible. 

“Hate to break up the pleasantries.” The Orc said after loudly clearing his throat. “But I wouldn’t leave the High King with the nobles for far too long. Uh… no offense Count, but Baron Dorell and Countess Tamirth ganged up on Emeric like crazed durzogs the moment we arrived.”

“No offense taken.” Verandis smiled lightheartedly, as if he wasn’t soaked in blood and had not just foiled a coup by his former friend and his Argonian lackey. “I am well aware how… draining dealing with the noble houses of Rivenspire can be.”

Following a draft of fresh air, the group left the Fevered Mews by one of the side tunnels, emerging into a narrow canyon just outside the city limits. The moons were shining bright and the night was clear. So clear in fact, that to the Count’s discontentment one could see the faint red glow over the craggy mountains to the north-west. He quickly looked away, following the rest of the group. 

Dio took off his suit jacket and gave it a vigorous shake to get rid of the dried blood. In the bright moonlight he could clearly see that his efforts were in vain – although some flaked off, most of it already soaked into the fabric and the jacket was ruined. Damn it, that thing was expensive!

He suppressed another annoyed grunt, catching a glimpse of Verandis with the corner of his eye. The Count was politely conversing with the cocky Breton, who had no clue that he was having a pleasant chit chat with a bloodsucker. Dio had to give Verandis credit where it was due – the illusion spell the Count shrouded himself in was immaculate. Not only did it make Verandis look like a regular Altmer noble – with radiant golden skin and vibrant emerald eyes – it also gave him subtle mortal mannerisms. Like his chest rising and falling steadily like he were truly breathing, or his eyes blinking just the right amount. He could probably even sneeze or cough convincingly if he wanted to. 

Sensing a burning gaze lingering on his person, Verandis glanced over his shoulder. His brows rose, but he said nothing. Yet, the Dunmer was caught staring. He should speak, lest he gives the Count some odd ideas as to why he was essentially piercing him with his stare. 

“I see you perfected it.” He spoke with a reluctant nod as they passed the canyon, entering a broad road illuminated by a single lightpost. 

“Perfected what?”

“Your mortal mask. You have it pinned down to every miniscule detail. You could even fool me.”

“What are you on about?” Darien sighed. “Shouldn’t you be brooding and snarling at anyone who dares get too close?”

“Heads up.” Skordo warned, reaching for his weapon as spine-chilling growling could be heard in the dark. “Bloodfiends.”

“For once. Just once.” Dio hissed to no specific person, conjuring flame between his palms. “I would like to travel somewhere nice.”

\---

“My King”, Countess Tamirth clasped her hands together with the face of a noble penitent. “If I may be so bold, I am afraid that we cannot wait any longer. If your agent and the Count perished fighting Baron Montclair, then I hope the Light takes them.”

“If the Light is kind enough to take in a bloodsucker’s soul.” Dorell joked before he could think, leaning against the chapel’s altar with no regard for sanctity. 

High King Emeric was about to lose his patience. For the hundredth time he regretted dividing power between the nobles of Rivenspire instead of appointing one ruler. Damned Ranser, if only he hadn’t gone barking mad and declared war all those years ago, drowning the land in blood, just like so many rulers before him. Rivenspire’s history was a litany of bloodshed intertwined with evil magic. There was something about this ominous land. Something that attracted madness and tragedy the same way it attracted cursed relics. 

Ignoring the nobles, he glanced up at one of the side balconies, spotting a Bosmer girl hiding just barely out of sight. Though pretty, her ghastly parlor and vibrant red eyes betrayed her true nature, no doubt she of Verandis’ House. She graced him with a toothy smile, to which he gave a slight nod. Next to the girl was an older Khajiit woman. That one he remembered well from the time he was sent to Castle Ravenwatch as a young man to study under the Count. Gods, it was so long ago…

The heavy front doors swung open, pushed by his loyal Lion Guard. They entered the chapel in an orderly formation, separating to stand at full attention at both sides of the nave. Four men were left standing, kited towards the chapel’s altar by the dashing Darien Gautier. 

“My liege!” Gautier fell on his knee whilst giving Countess Tamirth a covert wink. “I report that we were successful. Sadly, not in liberating the city – the Count and our friend beat us to it. But we did deliver our triumphant heroes to you in one piece!”

“Thank the Gods, finally some good news!” The King said with relief, approaching the Count and offhandedly signaling Darien to cease the theatrics. “It’s been years, Verandis. Please, do not remind me how many! You haven’t aged a day whilst I…”

“It’s good to see you too.” The Count replied, subtly glancing at the remaining nobles, trying to pick up on the dynamics of the gathering. “I hope you can excuse me for not greeting you properly… I don’t want to get all this blood on you.” 

“I hope some of it is Montclair’s?” The King’s brow rose, as he dared hope that was the end of Rivenspire’s troubles. 

“Unfortunately no, he fled to Northpoint. You might remember Ranser’s former court mage Reezal-Jul? He was left in charge of the attack on Shornhelm, teleporting Montclair’s soldiers into the city. We dealt with them and his magic portal, but sadly he too fled.” 

“Then we’ve gained nothing!” Dorell burst out, stepping between the two. “This isn’t over until Montclair’s head is on a pike decorating the town square!” 

“If the threat to our citizens has been dealt with, even temporarily, then I consider that a victory.” The Countess cut in without raising her voice, ever the stoic. “Thank you Count Ravenwatch, the people of Shornhelm are in your debt.” She expressed reluctantly, then turned her attention to Dio who was leaning against a wall, arms crossed. “And you as well. I am glad to have such a capable man as the King’s agent.”

The Dunmer said nothing, his jaw clenched tight. All this pointless talk and pleasantries, whilst time was running out. To Oblivion with Montclair and his idiotic attempt to grasp power! Bigger threats were looming over the horizon!

“Right. Verandis, I’m glad you met Dio the Menacing. I had him sent ahead with a warning, but it seems he got wrapped in Rivenspire’s troubles before he could state his own business.” Emeric said, beckoning the Dunmer to come forward.

“We know each other.” Dio summed up approaching, his tone far from nostalgic. Using his staff, he swiped all sorts of religious paraphernalia to the side of the altar, careful not to touch anything directly. The Countess let out an outraged huff, but he ignored it.

“Yes… Dio and I knew each other long before I became a Count.” Verandis explained, observing the man pull out a map from under his jacket and carefully straighten it out on the altar’s surface.

“That’s… a very long time ago.” Dorell cautiously assessed, giving Tamirth an uncertain look. House Ravenwatch was the oldest noble family in Rivenspire, having roots in the First Era. 

On a mischievous impulse, Dio looked over his shoulder. His upper lip curled up in a grimace vaguely resembling a smile, revealing to all present company his fangs. 

“It is, isn’t it?” He spoke softly, pleased to entice a reaction from the two nobles. Dorell’s wide eyes and hand semiconsciously reaching for the sword’s hilt paired with Tamirth’s palm over her mouth gave him some crude joy.

“Show-off.” Someone’s whisper (most likely Darien’s) was heard in the deep silence that fell upon the chapel.

“Let’s all keep an opened mind.” The King rose his hands before anyone could express their horror or disapproval. “Speaking of which… Verandis, there is no need to hide. I trust everyone gathered here to keep a secret. And” he paused to give the two nobles a stern look, “to remain civil.”

With a thankful nod, Veranis did a slight gesture, dispelling the illusion and revealing his true nature. He needn’t explain further who he really was - his pale skin and faintly glowing red eyes with dark shadows underneath said it all. The Countess looked away, suddenly very fascinated by the hem of her dress. Skordo elbowed Darien’s side, giving the Breton a not so subtle signal to close his mouth. 

“Now.” Dio turned his attention back to his map, before he could lock eyes with the Count again. “Since I fulfilled my part of the deal, I want to finally focus on what I really came here for… before it’s too late.”

“Are they already here?” The King inquired standing at the vampire’s right, whilst Verandis joined from the other side. The rest of the group gathered around the altar forming a tight ring

“They are.” Dio confirmed, tensing from how close he was to his former partner. Too close. “Here,” he tapped a spot on his map Verandis identified as Eyebright Feld. “I’m certain an Anchor will drop here tonight. I was hoping to rally the Fighters Guild, but now that the Lion Guard is here…”

“Finally, some action!” Darien exclaimed, and for once Skordo shared his enthusiasm. 

“Your Majesty.” Tamirth cut in, before Dorell could say something brash. “I believe both I, the Baron and the Count are not aware what new danger to Rivenspire you speak of. The letter your agent carried was pretty vague. But rest assured, once we know of this threat, we will provide any aid we can.”

“And troops.” Dorell swore, the militant strategist in him taking over.

Verandis remained silent, waiting for the events to unfold on their own. He too wanted to offer his assistance, but was certain he would meet immediate resistance from the Dunmer. So, he opted to wait for the King to make the first move. Looking above Dio’s head, he saw Emeric deep in thought, no doubt planning how to best play his cards out. Their eyes met and Verandis gave a slight nod. And with that nod the King knew he had the Count’s full support. 

“Right.” Emeric cleared his throat, putting his hands behind his back. “I won’t sugarcoat. The Empire is in shambles. Between us, the Pact and the Dominion there is no safe place in Tamriel. And to top it all off, Daedra and crazed cultists are roaming the Imperial City, whilst Molag Bal plans to pull Nirn into Coldharbour. If I were a poetic man I would say these are dark days. But I am not, so I’ll be blunt – times are shite and we are all on the verge of destruction of all we know and love, and our own eternal enslavement.”

Everyone fell silent. Skordo and Darien shared grim looks, remembering the horrors they faced back in Stormhaven and Glenumbra – some at the hands of rabid cultists and some from the minions of the Lord of Brutality. The nobles glanced at each other, unsure if what they just heard was true. 

“S-sire, how does one pull an entire realm into Oblivion?” The Countess managed to utter. Devoted and pious, the very thought of Molag Bal chilled her to her core. 

“The way Daedra always do when plotting to take over our world… through intermediaries.” Dio replied instead of the King, his eyes still fixed on his map lest he risked looking at the Count. “Molag Bal has a powerful lackey, a necromancer named Mannimarco, who himself has a dedicated group of fanatics. His Worm Cult is scattered all over Tamriel like literal vermin, dedicated to doing their master’s bidding. Some of them are already here.”

“And that’s where you come in, Verandis.” Emeric took over the conversation. “I believe the two of you can work together to solve both Rivenspire’s power struggle and take care of the Worm Cult’s threat to the region.”

“I don’t need-!”

“Whatever history the two of you might have is irrelevant. Larger things are at stake.” Emeric cut the Dunmer’s protest without raising his voice or even looking at the arrogant vampire. “I’m counting on the two of you.”

Dio’s nails dug into the time-worn map. Absolutely not! This was his personal vendetta against a Daedric Prince and his mortal minions. If Verandis was not working with his enemies, then he had no place in the picture. His pride would never endure the indignity of accepting his aid! Damn it, the plan was supposed to be so simple – find powerful allies regardless of alliance, convince them the threat of Molag Bal was real and secure whatever aid they could offer. And yet, despite the scope of the threat, he always ended up wrapped up in some local problem before he could gain more allies. But this time, said problem was personal. 

“I’ll be waiting at the Eyebright Feld before midnight.” He finally said, folding his map and turning around without looking at anyone, intending to leave the chapel at once. “Don’t bother changing, you’ll be splashed in fresh gore before the night is over.” 

Surprisingly, he left the scene without bursting into a cloud of bats. The nobles soon followed. Dorell, with vague promises of troops. And Tamirth, with Gautier somehow weaseling himself to her side so that he could ‘escort’ her back to her estate. Shaking his head and grumbling, Skordo left too. Finally, the Count and the King were left alone, save for a few Lion Guard protecting the chapel doors. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised you two know each other. It must be a small world for your kind.” The King said, wondering if past history between the two undead was a positive.

“Yes… most vampires of note are at least vaguely aware of each other. Though he and I have a more… personal history.” Verandis sighed. “I don’t recall him ever using a title. The Menacing, was it?” 

“An amusing nickname the Lion Guard gave him. You have to admit, there is a certain aura around him.” Emeric smirked, taking off his crown with relief. “He’s also quite the arrogant bastard, but by the Gods, does he get results. And that’s exactly the type of man I need.” 

“How did the two of you meet exactly?”

“In a very shite moment of my career as a monarch.” The King grunted, tossing the crown at the altar with a metallic clang, allowing himself to relax and speak his mind around his friend and ally. “Seems that after the Empire collapsed, every land went mad in its own way. There was a cult of Vaermina plotting to take over Stormhaven. Bastards had me trapped in a living nightmare! But then a Dark Elf swooped in and pulled me out of it. Before I could express my gratitude, he demanded troops to storm some remote location and weed out a coterie of Molag Baal worshippers. I obliged, though the thought of having him executed for such arrogance did cross my mind.”

“That does sound like him.”

“My spies tell me he was spotted all over Tamriel working to stop the Worm Cult with whomever he can. It seems like this whole crusade against the Lord of Brutality is personal to him. Can you imagine?” 

“I can.” Verandis shook his head with a faint smile. Yes, Dio was proud and crazy enough to hold a personal grudge against a Daedric Prince. And he had enough determination and ambition to make it his life mission to defy said Prince. “Midnight approaches, I best go prepare.”

Though friends, decorum came first. He bowed before his King, then turned around to leave, pretending not to notice his daughters skulking way up on the balcony, listening in on everything that was said during the meeting. 

“I should have just given you the crown of Rivenspire all those years ago.” Emeric unexpectedly sighed, halting the Count in his tracks. “It would have saved so much bloodshed.”

“We are all sages in hindsight.” Verandis said calmly, for a brief moment resting his slender hand on the King’s shoulder. “You did what you believed was right and had my full support. Besides,” a shadow of a smile flashed over his face, the tips of his fangs peeking from between his lips. “I would have never accepted the crown. Even circlets look terrible on me.”


	6. Chapter 6

No wonder the Worm Cult chose Eyebright Feld for one of their Dolmens. The ancient cemetery was long abandoned and shielded from any prying eyes by tall craggy hills, with only one narrow passage leading in and out. The cultists could operate virtually undisturbed. They did not take into account however, that if someone would attack, they would have no means of escape. 

“Look at them. Maggots.” Dio seethed, observing a group of hooded figures from a safe distance – atop of a sharp cliff.

There were six of them in total, all clad in dark robes. Three equipped with staves, the rest carrying melee weapons. They bustled around their carefully prepared ritual site like ants, ready to carry out their master’s dark bidding. Little did they know a small team of Lion Guard was stationed nearby, ready to strike the moment they began their blasphemous ritual.

“Where’s Darien?” Skordo wondered, staring at the dark sky. “He’s late.”

“Probably tangled in the Countess’ bedsheets.” The vampire replied, unable to peel his eyes away from the cultists.

“Excuse you!” The man in question said, squeezing himself past the tightly packed line of Emeric’s elite soldiers. “I’ll have you know I was the perfect gentleman and escorted the Countess straight to her door, then left without as much as a peck on the cheek! Where’s the Count?” 

“I’m here.” Verandis joined in, seemingly appearing out of thin air. “I apologize for being late. I needed to have a few words with my girls first.”

“Ah! Do you have loving brides waiting for you at your castle, Count?” The Breton asked before he could think, almost instantly elbowed in the ribs by Skordo.

“I have daughters, ser Gautier.” Verandis replied tiredly. It was fashionable among old male vampires to keep prestige broods of beautiful young women. Personally, he found the practice as cruel as it was tasteless. Still, the stereotype stuck.

“Let’s all focus on the mission.” Dio grunted, beckoning Verandis to come closer. 

The Count joined the Dunmer’s side and scanned the cemetery below. A curious structure stood out prominently in the center. It looked like a tall uncovered well, but what well had steps leading up to it? Was it an altar of some sort? The daedric script etched into the structure and the stone tiles around it surely pointed to that hypothesis. So did the chanting mortals gathered before it. Focusing his supernaturally sharp vision, Verandis could make out the meaning of some of the writing. ‘The slave must obey’, ‘Fall thrall to Bal’. This was a summoning circle.

“We call it a Dolmen.” Dio explained, crossing his arms. “They use it to summon Bal’s Dark Anchors. It’s how he sinks his talons into Nirn.” 

“What’s the plan?”

“We wait for them to open the connection. Then, we attack and leave no one alive. The other side is bound to sense a disturbance once we kill the cultists, so be ready for whatever is going to pass through from Coldharbour.”

“Daedra.” The Count guessed with grim certainty.

“Hordes of them. Hope you’re fed.” His former partner grinned. 

“It’s starting!” Darien whispered behind them. “Men, get ready for my command!”

The wind picked up and the moonlit sky darkened with heavy clouds. The air became charged with static as the wind carried the words shouted by the group leader.

“When Coldharbour calls Nirn obeys!”

The rest of the cultist’s words were drowned by the howling wind. Suddenly, a massive spinning ring appeared above the ritual site. Whatever metal it was made of could not have been forged anywhere on Nirn. In the center of the ring swirled a vortex of purple smoke and static. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the ring froze in place and three spiked chains dropped, lodging themselves in the soil around the Dolmen, securing the Dark Anchor in place. 

Horns blared, loud and terrifying, as if signaling the end of the world. The cultists all rose their arms in reverence, some fell to their knees. But their joy was cut short as they were all unexpectedly lifted in the air and sucked up into the purple vortex, leaving behind only echoes of their screams. 

The site was still for only a moment, before the magic current spat out a wave of Daedra. The ground shook and tiles broke as the creatures landed in flashes of blue fire.

“What fools.” Dio noted casually, preparing his flaming staff. “Too bad, I was hoping to grab a bite.”

“Attack!” Darien yelled, rallying up the troops. 

With the Breton and Orc in the front, the Lion Guard descended the hillside, clashing with the wretched Daedra. Battle cries and chilling, inhuman sounds echoed throughout the cemetery. Verandis and Dio’s eyes met. There was no taunting, no witty remarks. They both burst into dark clouds of smoke and bats and flew to the very heart of battle, ready for anything. 

The Count reappeared just as a Clanfear was about to sink its sharp teeth into the leg of one of Emeric’s soldiers. His staff drew a low arch, sending the creature flying with a surprised squeal. He had no time to watch where it landed though, dodging a powerful swing from a mace held by a battle-crazed Xivilai. He acted on instinct, his arm slashing forward, tearing the blue-skinned giant’s abdomen, eviscerating the Daedra on the spot. He was thankful he did not change his robes, as he was instantly splashed by a hot, sticky stream of daedric blood, whilst the Xivilai staggered back and faded into sizzling bits of ash. 

That smell. He hadn’t smelled this much blood since Ranser’s war. A small part of him missed that scent. Verandis quickly suppressed said part, preparing to face a Dremora running at him full speed with a gruesome battleaxe. He dodged, hissed, then struck, plunging his clawed hand into the Dremora’s face. The creature’s black eyes popped like gooseberries and black ichor shot from the Daedra’s eye sockets as it screamed. With his fingers buried deep in the Dremora’s skull Verandis twisted his wrist, snapping the thing’s neck. 

Thunder struck, reducing a tightly packed group of Scamps into smoldering bits of flesh. Dio yelled out an insult directed to no particular foe, charging to face yet another opponent, leaving in his wake a trail of lightning static. In the corner of his vision the Count caught a glimpse of Skordo, stomping the head of a lone Banekin to mush. But despite the Lion Guard’s efforts, the Daedra just kept coming, constantly vomited by the portal above. Was there ever going to be an end to them? 

A man screamed somewhere behind Verandis and the Count needn’t look to know what happened to him, the overwhelming smell of fresh blood and viscera were enough to guess. And there were many more mortal causalities, their spilled blood making the ground treacherously slippery. It clung to the hem of the Count’s robe and stuck to his boots. He was glad he was fed, else he would succumb to the sweet, red temptation. Dodging another enemy blow, he focused on conjuring a wall of frost, shielding a wounded soldier from a fresh wave of Deaedra. 

Drowning out all sounds of battle, Verandis kept weaving magic, using his claws and fangs on any enemies that dared get too close. His robes felt heavy, his blood-slicked staff was threatening to slip out of his grasp, his soaked hair clung to his face. But he maintained his focus, putting down Daedra after Daedra after Daedra… 

And then he realized there were no more foes to fight. He looked up, but the Anchor and its vortex were still in place. The magic within stirred, discharging static in short intervals. The battlefield fell dead silent, everyone left alive holding their breath for whatever was preparing to pass through.

Kicking away a smoking skull (possibly belonging to a Dremora?) Dio approached. His luxurious suit was soaked in blood and tattered beyond even the most skillful artisan’s repair, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

“We got his attention!” He revealed, gnashing his fangs in a morbid grin. “He’s sending out something big, I can feel it! Be ready!”

 **“Sometimes the prey turns around and nips us. It is a small thing.”** A voice echoed from above, dark and chilling, belonging to no one other but the Lord of Brutality himself. 

A spire of blinding cold fire shot from the Anchor, shattering the stone tiles. A massive figure emerged from the blue flames, revealing a Grievous Twilight. The Daedra growled, spreading its massive wings, eying the defenders as if wondering who it should attack first. 

Either overconfident or crazy (possibly both) the Dunmer dashed forward, carving a deep slash in the monster’s side with the bladed end of his staff. The Twilight roared in pain and outrage, swatting the vampire away with its tail like a mere insect. With a feral cry Dio sailed above the surprised Darien, landing somewhere past the line of timeworn tombstones. Turning its attention to the nearest group of mortals, the creature craned its head, taking a deep breath.

“Get behind me! It’s going to breathe coldfire!” The Count called out, weaving magic to conjure a barrier.

The Twilight exhaled a flood of blue fire the second the protective ward was set in place. With the Lion Guard safe behind him, Verandis braced himself, withstanding the fiery assault. Tortured screaming somewhere to his left giving away not everyone got behind the magic shield in time. 

“We have to kill that thing or all is lost!” Skordo yelled, his voice loud enough to be heard past the Twilight’s infernal roar. 

“Men! On my mark, we split and attack from the sides!” Gautier ordered, his voice strong and firm, despite their odds.

“Sir, there’s too few of us left!” A lone soldier cried. “We have to retreat!”

“To where, fool?” The Orc snapped. “We’re the only ones standing between Nirn and that monstrosity!”

Verandis ignored the exchange, focusing on maintaining the ward. Yet, the Daedra showed no signs of wearing itself down, continuously spitting fire. He could not hold it off forever! And to make things worse, more lesser Daedra dropped from the sky, slowly advancing on their position. 

And just as it seemed the battle was lost, a group of new defenders entered the scene. Some on mounts and some on foot, a colorful and mismatched group of individuals poured into the cemetery, cutting the lesser Daedra where they stood. The remaining Lion Guard cheered, their morale boosted by the sight of the unexpected reinforcements.

The Twilight finally ceased its attack, turning its head to see what the commotion was. Skordo seized the moment to leap towards it, plunging his sword under the creature’s front paw. The Twilight let out a pained roar, focusing its rage on the lone Orc. With a rallying cry, Darien and his men attacked the other paw, forcing the Daedra to stagger back on its hind legs, exposing its soft underside for Verandis to strike with a magic shard of ice.

Meanwhile, the newly arrived defenders finished cutting through the remaining Daedra and joined the Lion Guard, descending on the Twilight like ants. The monster roared and stomped with blind fury, overwhelmed by the dozens of simultaneous cuts that pierced its thick grey hide. And just when, just as it seemed it couldn’t get any more furious, it was hit by lightning at the back of the head. Hobbling on one leg and spitting curses, Dio rejoined the fray, his fury accented by tendrils of electricity dancing around his forearms.

“I’m not done here!” He grunted, though no one could hear him.

The Daedra took in another breath, but the Count was prepared. A perfectly aimed shard of ice lodged itself in the back of the Twilight’s throat. Spewing blood for a change, it swayed its head, blindly tossing and thrashing. 

“Spread out!” Gautier yelled, pulling away a soldier before they both got crushed by the Daedra’s hind paw. “Everyone, get back!”

Finally, the Twilight fell to its side, lifeless and defeated, the head landing just a pace away from Verandis. The Count gazed into the creature’s unmoving eye, the fire within dying. The Twilight then burst into ash, letting the wind carry it off into the night. 

The next moment a curious diamond-shaped cage appeared atop of the Dolmen steps. The cage bobbed up and down, before doing a series of rapid spins, dismantling itself unexpectedly into four separate sections to reveal an orb of white light, so bright, that the Count had to shield his eyes. 

“Destroy it!” He heard Dio’s desperate cry. “Before something else passes through!”

Verandis crossed the steps in one long leap and reached forward, seizing the ball of light. It felt like he was holding both lightning and ice at the same time, but it seared into his palm like white-hot coals. Fighting the impulse to let go, he gripped the orb harder, shattering it under his palm. The vortex above stirred, then went still and dark as the Anchor chains began to crumble.

 **“Dogs, filth. You anger a powerful enemy!”** Molag Bal’s terrifying voice tore the night. **“But hold, who do I see before me? Lamae’s new pet and the high and mighty Verandis? Working together? How touching! I will remember that when I skin the both of you for my banners!”**

With that, the magic in the center of the Anchor faded out, letting the crumbling chains detach themselves from the face of Nirn. The ring spined, gathering momentum as it lifted further and further into the sky only to explode with a deafening bang, the shockwave sending everyone to the ground. The dark clouds dispersed as quickly and unnaturally as they came, bringing back the stars and the moons.

The battlefield erupted with cheer, the Lion Guard and the unexpected defenders fell into each other’s arms, celebrating their victory against Coldharbour. Verandis picked himself up, taking a moment to wring blood out of his hair before he spoke with anyone. He decided that asking his servants to launder his robes would be too much – he was going to have them burned once he gets back to Castle Ravenwatch. He scanned the crowd, finding with relief that both the Orc and the Breton were still standing. Beaten up and completely soaked in blood, but alive.

He spotted Dio, who gave up on trying to stand up and fell back on his arse. Hissing, the Dunmer tore off his left pant leg, revealing that his femur was snapped in half. Quickly, Verandis approached, only to be stopped in his tracks by the Dunmer’s dismissive wave. 

“You’re injured. Let me help.” He offered, kneeling at Dio’s side.

“I healed from far worse.” The Dunmer muttered, grimacing as he pushed the bone back into his flesh, then covered the wound with both hands, focusing his unnatural fortitude to fuse the flesh and bone back together. He was being stubborn again, how typical. Fine, Verandis was too tired to insist. 

“Friends of yours?” The Count asked, making a vague gesture at the band of individuals who so unexpectedly came to their aid.

“No. But they always show up whenever an Anchor drops.” 

“Who are they?”

“Heroes, from a lack of better term.” Dio said, testing if he managed to fully heal his leg. He could stand, but the limp betrayed his healing skills did not improve after his awakening. “Adventurers, mercenaries, you name it. They act with no fixed plan, but they’re useful, I’ll give them that.”

They paused as the Lion Guard grouped up into a tight formation, ready to carry their wounded and dead back to Shornhelm. 

“Victory!” Darien smiled tiredly, but gave up on the cocky act, his handsome face setting into a dark grimace. “But it’s never without a price, is it?”

“We’re done here.” Skordo joined in, wiping a speckle of gore off his tusk. “You two plan on sticking around, or are you coming back with us?”

“No, we have some things to discuss in private.” The Count dismissed, before taking a slight courteous bow. “It’s been an honor fighting at your side.” 

With the Daedra defeated and Anchor destroyed, the cemetery slowly emptied, leaving the two vampires alone amongst the mounds of dust and shattered stone. 

“No matter how many times I hear Bal’s voice, it still chills my blood. And I’m a damned creature of the night.” Dio spoke, hobbling to take a seat at the steps of the Dolmen. He did not protest when Verandis joined him. “So, now you understand what’s at stake. One by one, the Worm Cult opens Dolmens all around Tamriel for Molag Bal’s Dark Anchors to drop. If they’re not stopped, our world is going to get pulled into Coldharbour.”

“How long have you been doing this?” The Count asked, staring into the distance. The night was still and bright, not even a cricket dared chirp in this forsaken place.

“Feels like ages… But it’s been less than a year.” Dio said with a heavy sigh, staring up at the moons. “Now stop giving me that look and ask your questions. I want to get out of here and take a bath.”

There were so many questions. Which one to start with? The obvious one.

“What did Mannimarco do to you?”

The corner of the Dunmer’s eye twitched. For a second Verandis thought he was about to snap and tell him to mind his own business, but instead Dio hung his head, both hands fumbling with his staff. Suddenly, he didn’t look arrogant or menacing. Rather, he looked like a man on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion.

“He murdered me.” He quietly said, hunching his shoulders. “His cult found where you laid me to rest and brought before him. He killed me like a sacrificial animal, sending straight to his Master. Verandis,” he lifted his gaze, his face twisted with pain, “He didn’t just kill me, he… He tore away my very soul. I don’t know how to describe it, but it was violating. I thought I was going to spend eternity in Coldharbour as a lowly Soulshriven until I lose my sanity and go feral, but I met some… interesting characters. It took some powerful magic, too powerful and intricate even for my understanding, but they helped me escape.” 

“I’m glad.”

“I’m sure you are. There is one problem, though. My soul is still in Coldharbour.” He turned to face his former partner. “Verandis, I am literally soulless. I-” he paused to clutch his chest, trying to find the right words. “No matter how much I feed, I still feel empty, incomplete. And this body?” He outstretched his arms, looking down at his grimy palms. “This isn’t even my original body! I must have turned to dust the moment I died for the second time. I’m glad, since Mannimarco’s undead minions descended upon me as I was fading away. I hope they and the bastard choked on my ashes! Oh, but you should have seen me the moment I came to back to Nirn. I was pathetic… weak, even a lone Bloodfiend could take me out. I whimpered at the faintest ray of sunlight, unable to hunt anything larger than vermin. I was at my lowest, slowly losing my mind. But then she called out to me.” He paused, feeling a lump of ice at the back of his throat, unable to speak his dark savior’s the name out loud.

“Lamae.” Verandis guessed, remembering Molag Bal’s taunting. The First vampire was the least likely name he expected to hear. Then again, he did not expect an Anchor from Coldharbour dropping from the sky. 

“Yes, the Blood Matron. She called for me in my dreams and I practically crawled all the way to her great mausoleum. She made me an offer I could not refuse. She would make me her Scion if I pledged myself to her. All I had to do was beg. And I did, I groveled at her feet like a dog, weak and pathetic, until she was satisfied and took me.” The proud Dunmer shook his head deep in humiliation. “I belong to her now. I don’t like it, but I’m not complaining, given our goals are the same – revenge on Molag Bal. I may be her pawn, but damn is her blood powerful. And damn it, I’m going to stop Bal’s plans and get my soul back even if it’s the last thing I do! But not before finding and eviscerating Mannimarco!!!”

Agitated, he stood up on impulse, only for his badly healed leg to betray him. He would have surely fell flat on his face if Verandis hadn’t sprang up to catch him in his arms. Both went rigid in their embrace, too close to be safe. 

“Let go.” Dio hissed with strain, his nails digging into the Count’s back. “I don’t want you touching me.”

“You’ll fall.” Verandis warned quietly.

“So be it!”

The Count eased his hold, allowing Dio to hobble a few paces away and cautiously sit on a crumbled old gravestone. They avoided each other’s eyes, staring blankly at the night sky. Both silent, despite so many things needing to be said. That brief moment just a second ago as their hands brushed…

“What is that eyesore Verandis? And why do I have the feeling you have something to do with it?” The Dunmer unexpectedly asked, pointing his chin at the red halo coming from the Doomcrag, his face once again having that characteristic disgusted scowl. 

“You are right.” The Count replied calmly, glad to hear his former partner was back to his normal self. “The eyesore, as you so colorfully described it, is indeed connected to me, Baron Montclair and Rivenspire’s power struggle. But… I can’t remember how exactly.” He confessed with a resigned sigh.

“Your age finally showing?” Dio grinned, unable to resist a jab.

“I see you remain as witty and subtle as ever.” Verandis retorted, approaching slowly, halting just a step away from the Dunmer. “But petty insults aside, I want to propose you a deal. I will personally assist you in any way I can with thwarting the Worm Cult’s efforts in Rivenspire. In return, I ask that you help me get to the bottom of my land’s troubles with Baron Montclair and stop his madness. Do we have a deal?”

Dio’s brows crossed and his lips pressed into a thin line. Verandis observed the man’s face, still and quiet, ever the patient one. 

“Deal. We conclude our business and then we part.” The Dunmer finally said after a longer consideration. “No need to shake on it.” 

“I’m glad we have an understanding. Come to Castle Ravenwatch tomorrow after sunset. We can discuss the details there.”


	7. Chapter 7

The next night, dressed in clean robes and after a thorough bath, Verandis awaited his guest in the comfort of his study. Sinking deeper into his favorite chair, he wondered if he made the right decision all those years ago. 

_“You left me Verandis! For centuries you had me sealed away like a shameful secret!”_ Dio’s accusations echoed through his head.

He bent forward, resting his forehead on his folded hands. He kept telling himself he did the right thing, even if he didn’t do the good thing. Dio was dangerous and on the verge of losing himself to his mad ambition. It was either this, or putting him down for good. But… if he had transported the sleeping Dunmer from his secluded resting place to Rivenspire and kept hidden deep in Castle Ravenwatch catacombs, then Dio would have never suffered so much horror at the hands of Mannimarco, Molag Bal and Lamae.

But even if he did so, would he keep Dio asleep forever, a literal skeleton in his closet? Or would he eventually wake him up once the right time came? He didn’t kill him, so he must have believed the man was not completely beyond salvation. He entertained the idea every few decades or so, but something would always pop up and demand his undivided attention. Like a powerful rogue vampire threatening the realm, or a war, or an alliance to forge, or an unexpected power vacuum… Whatever it was, something was always more important.

And so, over time, the dilemma solved itself, courtesy of the Worm Cult. 

He leaned back, stretching his arms above his head with a long sigh. He was old, even for a vampire. ‘Ancient’ would be the right word. And when one lives for so long, they tend to live through more than one identity. Being Count Ravenwatch was his third life. Before, it was just him and Dio – a pair of carefree fools in love indulging in all the wonders the world had to offer. Exactly what Verandis needed after leaving behind his first life… 

“My Lord.” Kallin gently knocked on the doorframe. “I understand from Mistress Adusa, that you have significantly strained yourself last night. May I offer myself to you?”

“I would gladly have you.” Verandis exhaled a soft laugh, beckoning the servant closer, glad the man came just in time to pull him away from a dangerous path of thought. 

Kallin approached, dropping on one knee before the chair. In a quick, precise gesture betraying he had done this many times before, he folded a plain linen cloth over his lap, extending his bare wrist. 

The Count’s fingers traced the intricate web of veins under the dark grey skin. Kallin’s pulse elevated slightly, the way it always did when alone with him. Holding the Dunmer mortal gently by the palm, Verandis lifted his wrist and bit down. Kallin gasped, feeling fangs pierce his skin, then let out a quiet moan, relaxing in his grasp. Verandis went slow, swallowing small mouthfuls of rich red, watchful for the first signs of his willing donor’s discomfort. The second Kallin’s palm clenched into a tight fist, he pressed his tongue flat against the two bleeding wounds, supernaturally healing them. 

“Thank you Kallin, you are indispensable.” He praised, accepting the piece of cloth to wipe his mouth. “You are dismissed for the night, get some rest.”

“I live to please, my lord.” The other man replied with tender affection, pulling down his sleeve.

“He’s here.” Adusa-daro chimed in, leaning against the doorframe, her nose instinctively twitching, picking up the scent of fresh blood. “Should we keep him waiting to teach some manners?”

“I’ll see to him Adusa, thank you. In the meantime, can you escort Kallin to bed?”

The woman nodded, taking Kallin under her arm and leaving the room. The Count’s tongue slid the length of his teeth, savoring the slowly fading taste of blood. He then got up to greet his guest, preparing to share with him some uncomfortable memories.

\---

“There are Bloodfiends running around the town below.” Dio said as a greeting, pausing pacing back and forth, making no note of the recently erected scaffolding and signs of restoration work being done on the priceless stained-glass window he had ruined. 

For this occasion he was dressed in a different, but no less flashy ensemble – a velvet coat with gold embroidered lapels and cuffs, the dark burgundy of the outfit accenting the deep shadows under his eyes. With some relief Verandis noticed that his limp was gone. 

“I’ll have one of my daughters look into that.” The host assured calmly, standing at the base of the stairs, hands behind his back, ever the regal one. “You look tired, have you slept?” 

“Oh, thanks to you I had my fill of sleep.” The other vampire snarked, rubbing his eyes.

“So, you’re pushing yourself again.” Verandis summed up. Dio was brilliant and resourceful, but his fatal flaw was single-mindedness, paired with an obsessive personality. 

“Have you forgotten what’s at stake? I’ll sleep when my work is done.”

“I have not. Walk with me and I’ll explain everything.” He turned around, beckoning the Dunmer to follow. “Montclair and I used to be very close friends, I dare say I knew him better than his own wife.” He began outlining the issue, leading his guest upstairs, where after passing a long corridor they entered what seemed to be the private chambers of the Count. “There’s more to his recent madness than simple ambition. You saw that his Argonian lackey and foot soldiers were recently turned, and you also pointed out the red glow coming from the nearby hills. Both are connected and involve me.” 

He halted in front of a small round table, resting his pale hand next to a small glass vial of bubbling red liquid.

“Well? Are you going to keep me waiting?” Dio grunted, growing impatient. Or perhaps he was just moody from lack of sleep. 

“I want to try something, if you’re willing. You see,” the Count reached to lift the delicate vessel up, allowing the light of the chandelier to light up its contents, “I could spend the entire night explaining Rivenspire’s recent misfortunes in detail, but I believe it’s best for you to experience them firsthand.”

“A Dream-Walk?” The Dunmer’s stepped back with his arms and brows crossed, guessing what was in the vial. “You want to put me to sleep again?! You must be joking!” 

“I am dead serious.” Verandis remained calm, his arm unflinching. “I understand your reluctance, but I need you to see things through my own eyes and help me find whatever detail I might have missed. Because whenever I try to remember, it feels like a fog settles over my mind. Those memories are painful to me, but I trust you enough to let you see them.”

“Why not your ask brood?” The man asked with suspicion. 

“They know me and I trust them completely, but unlike you they are not… so vocally critical of me.” The Count explained, offering Dio the vial. “Jokes aside, I need someone who knows me, but does not idolize me. That someone is you.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” The other vampire said less reluctantly, accepting the potion, careful not to touch Verandis’ fingers. “Fine. Let’s see what you did to doom the entire realm.” He grinned before downing the contents of the vial in one gulp.

The potion tasted just as he imagined it would – numbing on the tongue and in the back of his throat, with the distinct undertone of the Count’s blood. Foamy and light, and yet somehow his body suddenly felt heavy. He opened his mouth to say something, but lost consciousness before the sentence could form in his head.

Deftly, Verandis caught the vial slipping from Dio’s fingers, catching the Dunmer in his other arm, letting the man’s cheek rest on his chest.

“You could never hold your drink.” He summed up amused, putting the vessel aside to hoist the man bridal-style and carry off to his bed. “Gwendis,” he called out to the Bosmer peeking through the cracked door, “once you see Adusa, please ask her to investigate Crestshade. I’ll be busy for the rest of the night.” 

\---

Dio came to his senses in a parlor of a Breton-style castle, or rather the dream-memory version of it. Judging by the embellished crest above the fireplace it was the Montclair estate. He immediately stared down at his body. The distance between his face and the floor, as well as the slim physique clad in humble robes indicated he was no longer himself. He approached an ornate mirror hanging on the wall, taking a better look at himself. Putting the displeased scowl aside, he was the spitting image of Verandis.

“I must say, it’s rather strange seeing you as… me.” The real Count said, appearing next to him as a faint specter.

“I thought I was supposed to do this by myself.” The Dunmer grumbled, his tone and expression uncharacteristic of the real Verandis. 

“I’m here to observe your progress.” The specter replied calmly. “Please, proceed as if I weren’t here. Is there something wrong?” He asked, watching his dream-self grunt and do a few tentative stretches.

“Ugh, you feel so odd. So… long and thin.” Dio complained, outstretching his arms with visible confusion. “How do you get anything done with such proportions?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about, I have perfectly normal and healthy Altmer proportions.” The Count said with dignity, crossing his transparent arms. Truth be told, his height was impressive, even for a High Elf, a subject he was quite touchy about. 

“And those fingers, why are they so-?”

“Count Ravenwatch?” A servant entered the parlor with a humble bow. “The Baroness will see you now.”

Focusing on moving in a body he was not used to and ignoring the Count’s transparent form, Dio followed the servant to an opulent room, where a young girl was attentively kneeling at the bedside of a clearly ill older woman, desperately trying to convince her to drink a faintly glowing concoction. 

“Mother…,” the young woman beckoned softly, barely able to hold back tears, “you must take your medicine.”

“Lleraya, please…” the other woman pushed the cup away with some effort. “It won’t do me any good, just like all the other potions your father’s Argonian already had me drink. I’m dying.” The corners of her mouth jerked upward, her hand slid across the bedsheets to meet with her daughter’s fingers. “Tears won’t do us any good, I don’t want our last moments to be sad. Please, let’s cherish whatever time I have left.” 

Behind Dio, Verandis let out an extended sigh. “I didn’t suspect reliving this moment would be this painful. Baroness Montclair… Leila, she was an extraordinary woman, full of kindness and strength. She didn’t deserve so much suffering.”

“Verandis, my dear friend,” the Baroness spoke, shifting her attention to her guest. “I’m glad you came, though I wish you didn’t have to see me this way.” She grunted with pain, struggling to sit up. Thankfully, her daughter was there to assist her. “You were always so good to our family, I never got the chance to properly thank you for all the kindness you showed us. I…”

Her voice faded into a weak moan as her eyes closed. Lleraya quickly pressed her fingers to her mother’s wrist, but the Baroness simply fell into uneasy sleep. The young woman looked up at the Count, her big eyes full of tears. 

“It’s getting worse every day.” She said quietly, with tears streaming down her face and dripping from her chin. “Reezal-Jul is working day and night trying to find a cure, but nothing seems to help. I-” she suddenly got up, covering her pretty round face with her hands. “I-I’m sorry, I need to be alone!” 

She ran out of the room, passing another man in the doorway. Judging by his age and dress, Dio guessed this was Baron Montclair. He must have been a strapping man in his youth, but now age and grief have taken a toll on him, carving deep wrinkles into his face and framing his eyes in deep shadows. 

“I apologize for not coming earlier to properly greet you Verandis.” He said as he approached, his tone and uncertain steps betraying how drunk he was. “These days I am not sure if I have enough strength to get up in the morning.” He confessed, staring glassy-eyed at his wife’s still form. “Damn it!” He suddenly cried out, grabbing the Count by the shoulders. “I swore I would never ask of you, but it’s my wife! I can’t lose her! Verandis, my friend, I never made any demands of you, but I am begging, please save Leila!”

Dio cursed internally, smelling wine on the man’s breath and old sweat on his clothing. Instinctively, he wanted to push the damned mortal away and tell him to keep his hands to himself, but instead he spoke in the Count’s characteristic soft, measured tone:

“I am sorry Wylon, but Leila is not fit to be a vampire, my gift would ruin her. I know you feel powerless, but the alternative would be far worse.” 

“You are heartless.” Montclair hung his head, releasing the Count. “All those years of friendship mean nothing to you? You would let my wife die and watch as my daughter and I slowly follow from grief?”

“Wylon…” The Baroness’ weak call stopped the confrontation before it escalated. “Verandis is right, I don’t want his blessing. And not just because of all the… the blood drinking. I don’t want to watch as you and Lleraya age and die before my eyes, I could not bear it.”

“Leila!” The Baron cried out, rushing to kneel at his wife’s side, stumbling and almost tripping over his feet. “You don’t know what you are talking about, it must be the fever! Please, you cannot leave me and Lleraya!” He begged, desperately holding his wife’s pale hand. 

“This… doesn’t feel right.” The spectral Verandis shook his head, eyes fixed the heart-wrenching display. “I… I know I spoke to someone else, but I can’t remember who. Dio, look around, there’s something we’re missing, I’m sure of it!”

“Gladly…” The other vampire muttered, leaving the room with relief, ignoring the Baron’s pained sobs. Mortals.

He wandered the castle with no fixed destination, until a particular smell caught his attention. Was that-? Yes, that was definitely the smell of an alchemical laboratory working at full capacity. Intrigued, he followed the pungent smell, heading down into the Montclair estate basement, where the Baron’s Argonian was bustling around an impressive alchemical laboratory. 

Deep in thought and equally frustrated, Reezal-Jul let out a low hiss, furiously stirring the contents of a beaker. Noticing the dream-Verandis standing in the doorway, he put it away, crossing his arms. 

“Pointlesss…” He stretched the word out, shaking his head. “The Baron has me brew potions day and night, all for nothing! They won’t do the Baroness any good!”

Dio and Verandis watched as the alchemist paced around the room, agitated and erratic. Reezal-Jul suddenly halted, shooting the dream-Count a determined look. He approached, almost slamming his thin figure into him.

“Tell me, Count…” He began, narrowing his alert eyes, his sly face mere inches away. “You are a scholarly man if I am not mistaken? And the Baron calls you his friend. Perhaps…” He took a step back, staring at dream-Verandis like he was sizing up a mark.

“What are you talking about?” Dio asked through Verandis’ mouth, eerily uncomfortable around the Argonian, despite this being only a memory.

“Magic.” Reezal-Jul revealed, his bloodshot eyes widening. “As powerful as it is ancient, the forgotten arts of the Ayleids themselves!” 

He turned away, quickly approaching his messy desk. From one of the many drawers he retrieved a simple leather pouch. Dio crossed his brows, noticing a faint glow permeating through the pouch. His gut told him to retreat, but since this was a memory, he approached, wary but also curious. 

“I happened to come across an Ayleid relic. Or rather a piece of one.” Reezal-Jul revealed, carefully retrieving from the pouch a glowing red shard. “But the lady won’t accept my help, she is suspicious of my work. You, however…” His voice dropped, as he extended his hand with the item resting flat in his palm. “Your love for the Baron and Baroness is known to everyone. If you were the one to offer the cure…”

“And how do you know this shard of yours is safe for the Baroness?”

“The relic contains life energy, nothing more. If it will not do any good, then at least it will do her no harm.” The alchemist assured.

Dio did not like how this was playing out, there was something alarming in the excitement the Argonian displayed when he offered the item. Yet, his hand reached to take the shard. 

The scene blurred and faded into blinding light the moment his fingers came into contact with the artifact. Slowly, contours of a new scene appeared. He was now standing in the lavishly decorated dining hall of the Montclair estate, surrounded by familiar faces – House Montclair and House Ravenwatch celebrating. With the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Baron Montclair holding and kissing his wife, both brimming with joy. Judging by the woman’s blooming cheeks and wide smile she was quickly regaining her health. 

“I did not remember that it was Reezal-Jul, who introduced the Ayleid relic.” The spectral Verandis at his side rubbed his chin, passively observing Montclair shower his beloved with affection. “There must be more that I have missed. Oh no…” His voice dropped and he gave Dio a nervous glance.

“What?”

“I remember bits of this party, we’re celebrating the Baroness miraculous recovery. Things are about to get a bit awkward. Please, ignore all distractions and focus on helping me remember.”

“What distractions?” Dio’s brow rose.

And just as he asked, he felt a presence at his side and arms wrapping possessively around his waist. He stared down, finding that it was Gwendis – grinning and drunk, practically burying her face in the front of his robe. She looked up, giving him a wide grin, proudly displaying her little sharp teeth. 

“Gwendis…” Dio asked cautiously, the Count’s patient nature taking over. “Are you drunk?”

“Yes!” She said with pride, tightening her grip. “And I never had wine from grapes before! The stuff is delicious!”

“How did you procure the wine?” He kept prodding. “Did you feed on any of the intoxicated guests?”

“Oh no! Never! It was given to me, freely I might add! And I mixed it with the blood in my flask.” She revealed, patting the trusty hip-flask fastened to her belt. “I would never take from the unwilling, just like you taught me. I always listen to you, my Count… My Lord? Your Highness? My friend and confidant…” 

“Please,” the real Verandis sighed, looking away embarrassed, “pay her no mind, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“What are we exactly?” Gwendis suddenly asked, clutching his robe like a lifeline. “You and I? Because, sometimes I feel…” 

She shut her mouth and released the dream-Count before she could embarrass herself further. To cover up the awkward silence, she reached for her flask to have another swig of her laced wine, but Dio (or rather the dream-memory of Verandis) was quicker. Gently yet firmly, he took the flask away, resting his other hand on the Bosmer’s shoulder. She looked up at him, their height a stark contrast.

“You had enough excitement for one night.” He patiently said, hiding the flask in the folds of his robe. “Why don’t you take a short walk to clear your head? I think it will do you good.”

The look in her big eyes was almost teary, but quickly gave into hardiness. “Was I rebuked by the great Count Ravenwatch?” She asked, brushing her bangs to the side. “Why yes, I believe I was! Well, in that case… I’m going to take that walk now, before I say something stupid!”

“And how was this display going to help us with uncovering whatever it is you’ve missed?” Dio hissed, once they were left alone again.

“It does not.” Verandis crossed his arms, noticing the young Baroness approach with the characteristic cautious, yet clumsy stride of a drunken woman. “And there’s more to come, so please just bear it with me.”

“Count Ravenwatch,” she greeted, doing an awkward curtesy, “you look well… um… despite your parlor. And the eyes… and teeth. Oh, what am I saying! Please, ignore my babbling, it’s the wine talking.”

“That seems to be the running theme tonight.” 

“Yes, well, this is a special celebration. I just wanted…” she inched closer, taking a quick glance to make sure no one was eavesdropping on them, “I wanted to thank you for how good you’ve always been our family. You saved my mother’s life! And… you’ve always been so kind to me. I’m lucky to have you in my life.”

Her gaze lowered and her cheeks bloomed red after saying her confession. Unsure of what to do with her hands, she minced the hem of her dress. Ignoring the awkward display of affection, Dio shot Verandis a death glare. This was not what he came here for! He took in a shallow breath to protest, anything to end this uncomfortable scene, but he could only speak in the Count’s polite voice:

“Thank you, Lleraya. I cherish the friendship between our Houses.”

“Yes, friendship!” She blurted out, the word snapping her from whatever daydream she suddenly slipped into. “But have you ever considered-?”

“My dear”, the Baroness stepped in, her husband nowhere in sight. “I believe the Count could use a moment to enjoy the evening on his own, don’t you think?”

“Mother!” Lleraya backed away from the Count, panicked as if she were caught doing something indecent. “Y-yes, you’re right. I-I’m not feeling so well myself, I think I’ll retire to my quarters earlier. A good night to you Count Ravenwatch, goodnight Mother!” 

Before either of the two adults could speak, she quickly spun around and briskly walked out of the dining room, stumbling only once.

“She’s infatuated with you.” The Baroness stated the obvious with a sad smile. 

“I am aware, but I swear to you, that I have no ill intentions towards your daughter.”

“I trust you completely and know, that you will be a gentleman, as always.” The Baroness chuckled, waving at a passing by servant with a tray of clinking glasses. “It’s her that I’m worried about.”

“She’s young, it will pass.” He assured calmly before changing the subject. “You seem well, how do you feel?”

Pain washed over the woman’s face, but she collected herself quickly, sipping on her wine and glancing to check if her sudden change of demeanor was noticed by anyone. Thankfully, her husband was too busy chugging down another drink, deep in debate with Adusa-daro about some irrelevant historical fact.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. May we speak in private? I’ll be waiting in my drawing room, come find me in a few minutes.” 

She then nodded and laughed, pretending to enjoy a lighthearted conversation with the Count, before slipping away from her own party.

“That’s… odd.” The real Verandis broke the awkward silence, making no note of the sheer hatred in Dio’s eyes. “I do not remember speaking to Leila that night. Why can’t I remember that?” 

“An affair eating away at your conscience so badly, you tried to shove it deep down your-”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” The Count snapped, offended by such accusations. “Just… go and meet her in the drawing room.”

Alone, Leila did not have to pretend to lift anyone’s spirits. So, she was slumped in her favorite deep chair, breathing heavily, too weak to get up once the Count joined her.

“You’re unwell.” Verandis stated grimly, moving closer to see the deep rows of pain carved into her gentle face. 

“I didn’t want to worry Wylon, this is the happiest I’ve seen him and Lleraya in months. Please, I need you to swear that you won’t tell them!” She whispered, trying to stay strong, but her resolve was waning. “Verandis, I feel worse than before. It’s not just my illness, I feel so… empty. I can’t explain it, but I don’t feel whole anymore. The stone,” her eyes widened, as she desperately grabbed him by the cuff of his robe, “I could feel its power course through me when you and Wylon used it to heal me, but I’m afraid the shard you provided wasn’t enough. I think… if we could locate the whole piece, then I could fully recover. You’ve been so good to us during these difficult times, that I am afraid to ask any more of you.”

He knelt at her side, placing his hand on her feverish forehead. The Baroness let out a relieved sigh, grateful for how cold his hand was. She gave him a smile so tender and affectionate, that Dio was certain she would never smile at him this way if her husband was around.

“Perhaps there’s something about the Relic in the Ayleid tomes Reezal-Jul has been researching? Wylon mentioned he inherited an impressive collection of arcane tomes when he served as Ranser’s court mage.” He wondered out loud.

“The Argonian…” Leila’s face scrunched, this time in disgust. “Don’t tell Wylon, but that man always frightened me. Still, if he possesses any knowledge about the Artifact… Can you talk to him? I-I think I need a nap.”

“Of course.” 

“Do you remember when I was painting your portrait?” She asked, looking somewhere past him, deep in pleasant memories.

“Yes, it has been hanging in my castle’s main hall ever since you presented it to me.”

“I’m so glad you kept it for all those years. I remember those long evenings spent on painting you like they were yesterday. I was Lleraya’s age, and you were… well, you. I loved the conversations we had between painting sessions, and how patient you were with me, despite me being such a silly girl.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, you haven’t aged a day since then.” He assured respectfully, withdrawing his hand and ready to leave.

“Such a charmer.” She whispered softly, slowly easing into sleep. “I love Wylon, but I always wondered what would happen if… Ah, forget it. Please disregard the rambling of a dying old woman, this damned fever is clouding my better judgement.” 

“It must be the wine.”

Dio grunted as the door to the drawing room closed behind them. What was it about Verandis, that had people practically throw themselves at him? Was it his height, impressive even amongst other Altmer? His messy stubble (unseen on a proper High Elf!), which he would absentmindedly rub when deep in thought? The crook of his nose? Or perhaps the way he spoke to people - always giving whomever he was talking with the same amount of respect and undivided attention, no matter if he was speaking with a King or a lowly servant? Whatever it was, people seemed drawn to it like moths to a flame. 

It was annoying when the two of them were together, and it was still annoying in the present. 

“This concerns me greatly.” Verandis spoke, following Dio through the empty hallway. “I remember the celebration, but not speaking to Leila. Those Ayleid manuscripts and Reezal-Jul, I’m sure these two things hold great significance. But I’ll need you to talk to everyone, just to be thorough. Can you go back to the dining hall and speak to Wylon before you go meet the Argonian?”

“Fine.” Dio rumbled displeased. “But I’m warning you, if the Baron makes a pass on me, then I’m leaving!” 

“I enjoy my triumvirate with Dorell and Tamirth as much as I suspect they do. But you must understand, historically house Montclair is the true heir to Ranser’s throne.” The Baron ranted back in the dining hall, whilst poor Adusa nodded and pretended to be interested. 

The Khajiit noticed her maker standing just a pace away. The Count gave a slight nod, signaling she could leave the conversation. She did so with much relief, allowing him to take her place at Montclair’s table.

“Verandis!” He greeted cheerfully, raising his glass for a toast, spilling most of his wine due to how drunk he was. “My friend, my savior! How are you enjoying the party? Do I need to have someone pour you a drink?”

“Wylon, you know I never visit people hungry. But I didn’t join you for pleasantries, we need to talk about what happened.” 

Despite his inebriated state, the look on Montclair’s face was now alert and hard. “We know what happened.” He spoke slowly, lowering his voice, so no one but Verandis could hear him. “You presented the miracle shard to me and it healed my wife. That’s it, there’s nothing to discuss further. Leila is on the mend and Lleraya and I can finally have some peace.”

“Your Argonian found the shard, not me.” 

“Yes, and I will make sure he is compensated adequately for his assistance. Still, it was you who presented me with this miracle cure. Now, please stop worrying, you’re ruining the party. It was providence that caused this relic to unexpectedly fall into our hands, and let me tell you – only a fool would not use it!”

“I can’t help but feel we got carried away and used it without thinking.”

“And what would you have me do?!” Montclair snapped, abruptly standing up, toppling his chair and wineglass in the process. “Would you have me stand idly, while my wife rots before my eyes? Perhaps you are used to watching people around you slowly wither and die, vampire, but I do not!” His angry voice echoed in the deep silence that befell the room. 

Unaffected by the outburst and insult, Dio braved the Baron’s glare, then shifted his attention to the red wine trickling off the edge of the table, lazily dripping onto the intricate carpet below. Pity. Ignoring all eyes focused on them, he got up, gave a slight courteous bow and left the room to find the Argonian.

“If only Wylon wasn’t so hotblooded.” Verandis let out a pained sigh, following him down to the basement, where they were sure to find Reezal-Jul. “I always knew he would drown the world in blood for Leila, but the way things escalated…”

They found the Argonian bent over a worktable, examining the Ayleid shard through a wide magnifying lens. The alchemist let out a long, hissing breath, staring unblinkingly at the fragment, focused entirely on his research.

The moment the Count approached, the shard’s faint red glow shifted, for a moment bursting into intense flames, but falling dormant the next second.

“What just happened?”

“Hm… it seems the shard reacts differently to you, Count.” Reezal-Jul guessed, peeling himself away from his work. “How is the party going? Is House Montclair back to its content bliss?”

“We both know you don’t care about that.”

“We also know you wouldn’t be down here if you didn’t want to talk about the shard.” The Argonian retorted, disregarding the Count’s cold demeanor. “Such power, contained in such a tiny vessel. Imagine, what power the Relic it came from could possess!”

“About that. Leila is not doing well, it seems your stone improved her condition only temporarily.” 

“What a shame, the poor Baroness.” Reezal-Jul faked concern, shifting his attention to the stone once again. “It seems I am not able to learn more about the Relic’s potential from just this small fragment. I… we need the whole thing. Then, the secrets of the Ayleids will be ours, I am sure of it! And I believe I know where we can start.”

“Enough games. Leila’s life is on the line, so I’ll be blunt. I know from Wylon you inherited all sorts of arcane paraphernalia form Ranser’s historian when you served as his court mage. I want to see whatever tomes on the ancient Ayleids you might have.” 

For a second the alchemist’s nostrils flared and Dio was certain the Argonian was going to lash out. Yet, he did no such thing, instead approaching his desk to retrieve some rolled-up papers.

“You are quite invested in House Montclair’s wellbeing, aren’t you Count?” He rather stated than asked, his voice dripping with venom, despite his neutral statement.

“I am.”

“How admirable to see such kindness… despite being what you are.” The Argonian exposed his sharp teeth in a parody of a smile, straightening out the fatigued papers on the table, right next to the ever-ominous shard. “You will excuse me for not sharing the original manuscript with you, it is too delicate to be handled. But feel free to inspect my notes, I have nothing to hide. Actually, I would be happy to hear your thoughts on my translation.”

Dio took a seat and fumbled through the alchemist’s notes, futilely trying to decipher them. He prided himself in being proficient in several languages and possessing extensive arcane knowledge, but anything concerning the elusive Ayleids was out of his scope of expertise.

“Help me out here.” He implored the spectral Verandis, watchful of the Argonian, who once again doted over his precious shard. “You know I’m terrible at anything related to your kind.”

“Pardon?” The real Count raised his arched brow, leaning over the table. “Pray, what do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean! Aldmer, Ayleid, Altmer… all make no sense to me!”

“Your ancestors were Chimer, the religious fundamentalist descendants of the Aldmer.” Verandis shook his head at such blatant display of ignorance.

“Spare me the lecture and help me translate!”

Verandis pressed his lips into a tight line, but bent over the table nonetheless. Dio looked away from the specter. No matter if real or just a dream-projection, the proximity of the Count was too much for him to bear considering their past.

“A few phrases stand out prominently… Life, Death, Crag… Something about a second outpost east to the hillside or crag… Where they hid away some recorded knowledge… either a scroll or tablet…” Verandis mused, tracing the lines of text with his transparent finger. “Wait…”

“What?”

“I remember translating this, but my translation was morbidly off. We thought the Crag was housing a powerful healing relic, but we were oh so wrong. And I don’t recall translating the part about the second outpost to the east, but I’ll need to ponder this later. I think we have everything we need from this memory. There is one last bit I need you to experience.”

“There’s more?” Dio sighed, passively observing Reezal-Jul measure and weight the shard whilst muttering to himself.

“Yes. The eyesore you referred to? That’s the Doomcrag – a place long abandoned and thought haunted. In reality it’s just a crumbling ruin of an Ayleid city built atop of the craggy hills overlooking the sea. And indeed, it housed a powerful Ayleid Relic, the same one from which Reezal-Jul’s shard came from. When Leila could no longer hide her failing condition, we ascended the peak to find the Relic and hopefully cure her for good… but it all ended in disaster.” 

The room drowned in light, blinding Dio. He blinked, slowly tracing out the details of new surroundings revealing themselves before his eyes; crumbling white walls and arches so characteristic to Ayleid architecture, mixed with steep, craggy hills of Rivenspire. This was the infamous Doomcrag. 

“This part is the worse, but I need you to see what happened to Montclair to fully understand why he needs to be stopped.” Verandis spoke, ever watchful at this side. “And I… I’m sorry for what you are about to experience.”

The Dunmer looked around to see who else was present. He saw Gwendis, the fuming Baron accompanied by his daughter and wife, and Reezal-Jul. Such a combination could only end in disaster. He glanced at the Baron, but he might as well be staring at a statue with how adamant Montclair was at ignoring him. The Baroness gave him an apologetic look, so did her daughter, bravely supporting her weak mother. He looked up, surprised to find that there was no red glow coming from the top of the crag. He guessed it was going to come later as a result of whatever he (or rather the dream-walk Verandis) was about to do. 

Desperately wanting to have this whole affair over with, he made the first step, ascending the threatening peak. 

\--

Dio bucked and kicked, waking up from his potion-induced sleep. Disoriented, he looked around, finding he was back in the Count’s tastefully furnished bedroom, laying in a wide bed, with Verandis sleeping on a pulled-up chair right next to him. 

“Oblivion take you.” He grunted, peering onto the man’s face, still shaken by what culminated on top of the Doomcrag. “You really messed up.”


	8. Chapter 8

“I have.” Verandis agreed, slowly opening his eyes. “My intentions were good, but I doomed everyone, and now Rivenspire is in danger because of my foolishness. I will not deny how instrumental I was in this tragedy, and that I need your help.” 

He remained seated, whilst Dio sprang up from the bed, vigorously pacing around the room. He braced himself, awaiting the inevitable barrage of ridicule from the Dunmer, but none came. The look and sigh his former partner gave were frustrated, but lacked any malice. 

“Of course I’ll help you, you fool, that was the deal, wasn’t it? So, what have we learned?” The Dunmer grumbled tiredly, resting his back against the window still, trying to keep his eyes from wandering the Count’s living quarters. Yet, he couldn’t help but notice how the décor and personal items gave the room its owner’s personality – elegant and practical, with just a touch of eccentrics. 

“Aside from Reezal-Jul being skilled enough to remove pieces of my memory without me noticing? We learned that it was he, who introduced the shard, using me as an intermediary.” Verandis recollected, finally piecing together the missing bits of the puzzle. “Leila’s condition improved, but only temporarily. Using the Argonian’s notes I managed to translate a passage from an old Ayleid manuscript, and uncover where we could find the whole Relic.”

“The Doomcrag.” Dio said out lout, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous name. Then again, it somehow did not seem out of place somewhere as gloomy and forsaken as Rivenspire.

“Yes. We then scaled the peak and found the relic chamber. We began the ritual, hoping to use the artifact to heal Leila completely, but it all went horribly wrong the moment I touched it and somehow altered its nature… Leila and everyone else got corrupted by the artifact, its power turning them into vampires.”

“Are you surprised?” The Dunmer’s brows crossed. “Verandis, you are free to defy your nature, but deep down in your core, the force that brought you into this existence is evil. It seeped into the Relic and defiled the mortals. Ashes, the shard you presented to Montclair was already tainted! My guess is that it was gradually turning his wife into a Bloodfiend, but I can only speculate.” 

“I… that is possible.” The Count realized mortified. “I let my sympathy dull my better judgement. Damn it.”

“At least you quickly ended her suffering. Though, I doubt having her head torn off was how she wanted to go.” Dio allowed himself a wide grin. 

“Right in front of her husband and daughter.” Verandis sunk deeper into his chair, exhausted despite having just awoken. “Wylon is now mad with grief and thirsts for revenge. He and Leila were standing the closest to the damned thing, so I suspect most of its power seeped into them. Montclair is the most dangerous and least stable one out of the remaining three.”

“Speaking of which, what about his daughter?” Dio asked, trying to mentally place every piece on the board.

“From what I heard, she’s made her lair in Northpoint and rules in her father’s absence. The city is on lockdown, and I fear what is happening to the residents as we speak.” The Count dared peer into his former partner’s face, finding that Dio was staring back at him intently, obviously pondering something. Oddly enough, he was taking his sweet time to carefully consider his words before speaking. 

“I’m just wondering… You still believe in your old dream, don’t you? About us and mortals being able to coexist peacefully.” The Dunmer rather stated than asked, breaking eye contact to face the window and get a good look of the glowing red peak looming in the distance.

“I do.” The Count said quietly, not sure if he preferred that barrage of ridicule over whatever was unfolding now. 

“Why? We’re different breeds, us and them, yet you still believe?” The man looked over his shoulder, more puzzled than condescending. 

“I never stopped.” 

“Well, I have to hand it to you for sticking to your convictions for so many years… Despite the consequences.”

“You needn’t remind me. And I made terrible mistakes in the past, always with the utmost best intentions at heart. Still, I refuse to lock myself up in my castle and grow jaded and cruel, like so many of our kind.”

“Verandis…” Dio hissed, his patience stretched thin. “It’s been so long, but you haven’t changed at all. You’re still too fixated on doing good for the mortals, that you refuse to step back and consider what could go wrong. Our worlds should not mix, it’s unnatural and puts everyone in danger!” 

“We’ve had this conversation so many times before.” Verandis jerked the corners of his mouth upward, surprised to feel the familiar rush that overcame him whenever the two of them would engage in heated debate. A small part of him missed it. 

“Yeah, and last time you put me to sleep for so long, that I woke up in a different era.” Dio reminded bitterly, his words like knives to the Count’s chest. “I see that look in your eye, spare me whatever you want to say, and focus on the present. What needs to be done now?”

“That Ayleid text referred to an outpost in the hills. I have a feeling, that if we find this location, we will be one step closer to defeating Montclair. I’ll consult some of my old maps and hopefully narrow it down.” He sighed, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose and trying to remember where in his library did he put his old tomes on Rivenspire’s history.

“Well, good luck with that. In the meantime, I have some forsaken ruins of my own to check out. Rivenspire is dotted with places perfect for cult activity, so I’ll have my hands full for some time.” 

“Do you have a comfortable place to sleep?” Verandis asked, as the first rays of sunlight pierced the clouds over the horizon. It was going to be a rainy day. 

“I do. It’s remote, crumbling, scary, and close enough to a bandit camp in case I get hungry. The dream.” Dio didn’t even bother to mask sarcasm in his voice, crossing his arms. 

“You could-”

“No.” He interrupted sharply, taking a step towards Verandis, his finger pointed at the Count’s chest. “We are working together and I will remain civil, but… I can’t be too close to you. You had years to forget and move on. I have not.”

“Dio…”

“Stop. Have some damned mercy.” 

There was a knock on the door. 

“Adusa hates to interrupt, but she has found a lead on the lizard!” The Khajiit called out from the other side, interrupting them just in time. 

Verandis collected himself, giving Dio one last apologetic look, but the Dunmer was stubbornly avoiding eye contact, staring down at this own boots. “Come in, we’re done here.” He beckoned, straightening in the chair.

Adusa-daro entered, dressed in dusty travel attire bearing fresh marks of splattered blood and scratches, indicating she recently got into an altercation. 

“The Bloodfiends roaming Crestshade, just outside of our doors? Reezal-Jul’s doing. This one stalked the lizard’s trail and believes he is hiding somewhere to the west. Captain Janevie established a camp for Crestshade refugees nearby, so this one advises swift action.” She reported, standing painfully straight at har master’s side, hands behind her back and tail swishing. 

“Adusa, I need you to look into this.” Verandis rubbed his scruffy chin, glad things were moving forward, but fearing what consequences they might have on Rivenspire. 

“Actually, this one was thinking about sending the Walker.” She suggested with a sly smirk, turning her attention to Dio, who did his best to pretend he wasn’t part of the conversation. “What do you say, eh? Or are you too good to skin a crazy Argonian?”

“Watch me.” The man hissed, sharply turning his head to face her, back to his snappy self. “Guess my ruin scouting will have to wait. By the way, Emeric wanted a progress report on the Worm Cult’s activities. Here are my notes. “He stated bluntly, retrieving from under his coat a small notebook to hand over to Verandis. “You’ll be doing me a favor if you bring him up to speed, since I am physically unable to deal with nobles without wanting to strangle them.”

“I’ll see to it that he gets them.” Verandis promised, reaching to take the notebook.

Their fingers brushed for a split-second, but that was enough to have the Dunmer sharply pull his hand away with a frown, as if somehow their short contact caused him physical harm. He crossed his arms, then shoved them in his coat’s pocket, muttering a dunmeri curse under his breath, not sure how he wanted to say his goodbye before departing. 

“Do you need to be escorted out, Walker? Adusa wants to make sure you will use the door this time.” The woman joked, hoping to divert the Dunmer’s attention away from the Count. 

“Verandis, tell your progeny to stop annoying me!”

\---

The heavy wooden doors closed behind the Dunmer and Adusa-daro exhaled a purely theatrical sight of relief. Good, she was glad to have the man occupied with some of her work, so that she may focus on more personal threats. Like would-be assassins sent by Montclair. She disposed of two in the past week!

Muttering curses in her native tongue, she turned to head back to her private quarters for some well-deserved rest, but then an odd scent caught her attention. Her sensitive nose twitched, trying to pick up the exact nature of said smell. Was it… alchemy? Odd, Verandis should still be upstairs, no doubt working on whatever it is he was doing to stop Montclair. Fennorian? No, the young scholar was still away for his studies in Stormhaven. Yet, her sense of smell was not fooling her, someone was clearly busy in the alchemy lab downstairs. Alerted, she descended the stairs leading to the castle’s vast cellar.

“Gwendis!” She hissed, catching the little Bosmer red-handed. “What are you doing here?”

The woman in question froze over a bubbling beaker full of some foamy red liquid. She slid off the alchemy table (which was too tall for her to use while standing), nervously rubbing her palms.

“Heheh, you caught me. Don’t tell Verandis.” She pleaded, shrinking under Adusa’s disapproving gaze.

“What were you doing?”

“Well… I… You know how he dream-walked with that damned Dunmer just now? I took what was left from the vial he had him drink, and snuck into his bedroom while they both slept…” She grinned nervously, seeing the Khajiit’s nose crinkle dangerously. “I took a tiny bit of blood from the Dunmer, mixed with what was left of the dream-walk potion, and… Fenn always keeps such meticulous notes, even I could quantify the potion.”

“So, that’s a dream-walk potion?” Adusa pressed, taking a wary step towards Gwendis. “With their blood inside?” She made sure, risking to take another step.

“Yes.” Gwendis replied firmly, reaching for the beaker with a hardened look on her face.

They stared each other down like hunter and prey. Adusa dashed forward, reaching to seize the beaker, but the Bosmer was quicker. The Khajiit’s hand grasped nothing, whilst Gwendis dodged and rolled under the alchemy table, reemerging on the other side.

“Give this one the beaker and she will not tell Verandis.” Adusa tried to barter.

But it was of no use. Gwendis narrowed her eyes, then drank from the vessel, maintaining defiant eye contact with Adusa, not flinching or blinking even once. In less than three seconds she staggered back, stumbling over her own feet. With a frustrated hiss Adusa leaped over the table, grabbing the unconscious Bosmer in her arms. Miraculously, the little vampire’s grip on the beaker had not eased.

“Oh, no!” Adusa hissed, taking the vessel, and downing what was left of the potion. “This one is not letting you off that easily, little one!”

The concoction worked instantly, blurring her vision. With her strength quickly waning, she set the beaker aside, laying on the floor with Gwendis in her arms, before falling into deep slumber.

\---

“Took you long enough!” The spectral Bosmer greeted as Adusa awoke in a grotto illuminated by fluorescent mushrooms. “Come on, it’s starting!”

“No!” Adusa grunted, reaching to grab Gwendis by the wrist, but as they were both apparitions, her hand went through the little one’s, meeting no resistance. “We have to leave, right now!”

“I’m not going anywhere, I have to know!” Gwendis hissed, stomping her foot like a bratty child.

“Know what? These memories are not for us to see!” 

Lightning tore the sky, illuminating a figure standing at the mouth of the grotto. They both fell silent, instantly focusing their attention on whoever it was. The figure cursed, raising their arms, doing a series of complicated gestures at the night ocean. The wind and rain picked up, culminating in a violent sea storm, fueled by the figure’s magic. However powerful, the storm was not enough to keep a dense cloud of bats and smoke from flying into the grotto with a haunting shriek. The mage spun around, revealing it was the mad Dunmer – younger and mortal, with an impressive beard and his long black hair loose and wet. And also stark naked.

Dio conjured lightning in both fists, observing the cloud stir in front of him, materializing into Verandis, dressed in well-worn traveler robes.

“Peace, I mean you no harm!” The vampire swore, raising his hands. “Why are you naked?!” He asked confused, immediately lowering them and averting his gaze before he could see too much.

“You’ve got some nerve, bursting into a man’s home uninvited and asking why he chooses to be nude! I’ll have you know my resources are thin, and I have to do less laundry that way.” The host snarked, dispelling lightning to put both fists on his hips, unbothered and unashamed. “Now, who are you and what do you want?”

Verandis shook his head with a faint snicker, turning his head to look into the Dunmer’s burning red eyes, careful not to allow his gaze wander anywhere below the man’s neck. 

“My name is Verandis, and I am a vampire.” He stated with disarming honesty in his characteristic polite tone.

The Dunmer’s brows crossed, but he showed no signs of fear. He pondered something for a second before letting out a contemplative ‘mhmm’, and making an offhand snap of the fingers and twist of the wrist. The storm died down in mere seconds and the dark clouds dispersed, revealing the starry sky and Nirn’s twin moons.

“I am Dio.” He replied bluntly, wringing out his hair. “Why did you come to me, Verandis?”

“The fishermen in the nearby village said you are a hermit.” Verandis casually explained, studying the Dunmer’s sharp face. “Hermits are supposed to be wise, if I am not mistaken?”

“Hermits are mad, my friend. And impatient.”

Verandis threw his head back and laughed at the man’s not so subtle threat. “I wouldn’t mind a madman’s opinion either!”

“On what?” Dio asked with his arms and brows crossed, growing frustrated with this odd intruder. 

“Me. Or rather, my condition. I am curious about your opinion.” Verandis nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders with a faint smirk. 

Dio grumbled, clearly taken aback by his cheery guest. Nonetheless, he whipped his hair back and walked deeper into the grotto, beckoning Verandis to follow.

“Come to my study, then. And you’ll excuse me for not offering you a drink.”

“Oh, I never visit people hungry. It’s rude.”

The scene morphed, shifting to what was no doubt the living and study quarters of the hermit; a spacious cavern with sparse furnishing, but well-stocked with all sorts of arcane paraphernalia. Dio was now dressed in simple, ragged robes tailored from roughly spun flax. Verandis, on the other hand, was stripped from waist up and seated on a stool, whilst the hermit was examining him under the light of a bulbous fluorescent potted plant that served as a chandelier. 

Adusa shot Gwendis a glare, but the Bosmer was transfixed on her maker, eyes wide and mouth covered with both hands. The little one had never seen Verandis undressed, even partially, and was taking the scene in a bit too enthusiastically. The Khajiit grumbled. Elves! She herself had the opportunity of seeing the good Count in various stages of undress more than once, as she was close enough to him to sometimes assist with cleaning his wounds. To her he was nothing special; tall and slim, having broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Then again, one had to at least possess a tail to be worthy of her attention. 

“So, you are a vagrant.” Dio made conversation, carefully lifting the man’s upper lip to inspect his fangs.

“A traveler!” Verandis protested with dignity, jerking his head back to speak.

The host made no comment, moving his fingers to the side of the vampire’s neck, where a mortal was sure to have a pulse. “Nothing.” He noted, moving his hands lower to press to the front and back of his guest’s chest. “No heartbeat either.”

“That’s normal.” Verandis assured, patiently allowing the Dunmer to continue his examination.

“Do you breathe?” The hermit asked, observing the vampire’s chest for movement, but finding none. 

“I only draw breath to speak. Otherwise, no.”

“You have the parlor of a cadaver, and your skin is… eerily smooth, too perfect to be natural. And you’re alarmingly cold.” Dio assessed, now standing behind the vampire and running his hands the length of his shoulders.

“I have no body heat of my own. I get a bit warmer for a short time after feeding, though- What are you doing?!” He asked alarmed, as the Dunmer suddenly lifted his arm and took a deep whiff of his armpit. 

“No smell. You don’t sweat either, do you?” Dio noted, unfazed by his subject’s shock, moving to his side table, where he had his instruments arranged in a neat line.

“I do not! You truly are a madman!” The vampire exclaimed, hugging his shoulders like a shy lass, whilst Dio ignored him to browse his tools. 

“I am a man of science. You came here on your own accord and asked me to assess you, so that is what I am doing. Now, tell me, does your digestive track work?” He asked, once again facing Verandis, only this time armed with a long, thick needle which Dunmer farmers used to poke Netches when those accumulated too much gas. 

“No, I am undead! I do not digest, or anything of the sorts!” Terrified, Verandis sprang from the chair and franticly pulled his robe up. “And you are not poking me with that! Actually, you are not poking me with anything!”

Dio smirked, oddly satisfied to have a creature of the night this aghast. “Fine. No poking, no prodding, no cutting. I guess having you strip for me will have to suffice.”

“Don’t get too full of yourself! When my heart was still beating, it took some wooing to have me undress!” The guest hissed, trying to regain some dignity, whilst lacing up the collar of his robe. 

“I’m sure. Which brings me to my next question, and it’s only my scientific curiosity, so don’t fret. Can you reproduce?”

Verands fought a clench in his jaw, reminding himself that he came here willingly. “No, not in the traditional sense. I could create more of my kind, but it would be more of a blood transfusion, than…” He abruptly paused, looking away to study the intricate pattern of fluorescent plants and fungi dotting the cavern. There was no blush on his cheeks, but he was obviously embarrassed by having to discuss such intimate topics. 

“You are not…” Dio scratched his outgrown beard, trying to find a subtle word as not to embarrass his subject further, “… romantically inclined?” 

“Blood is my only vice and base instinct. I am not made of stone, but… my kind expresses affection differently.” Verandis confessed with some reluctance. 

“Through blood, yes? Then, what about your bloodlust? Is there a correlation?” Dio asked intrigued, nonchalantly twirling the unsettlingly large needle between his fingers. 

“The need for blood relates to lust, but not in a way you might imagine.” Finally, the vampire’s shoulders relaxed, and he could look the hermit in the eye. “If I were to describe the feeling, it’s… hunger, thirst, lust, addiction, and pain all at the same time. It’s always present, though I’ve spent years learning to control it to some extent, and I always take steps to ensure my needs won’t affect the innocent. I used to maintain a small flock of willing subjects, but that’s difficult when travelling. Thankfully, my travels take me to all sorts of remote and forsaken places, where I can feed on all sorts of unsavory types without feeling guilty.” He smirked, the tips of his fangs peeking from between his pale lips.

“Interesting perspective. Would you say your condition qualifies you to make judgement who is innocent and who is not?” The hermit asked. 

Despite his tone bearing no hostility or judgement, the sheer bluntness of the question was enough to have the vampire hunch his shoulders and withdraw from the conversation. Verandis stepped away, something inside him clearly stirred by the hermit’s words. He opened his mouth to speak, but then turned his face away with a dismissive wave and defeated sigh, slowly pacing around the room and ignoring his host.

“I have made you uncomfortable. I… ugh, apologize.” Dio sighed, forcing himself to be civil whilst trying to decipher the look on the man’s face. But with no quirks of a living body, the vampire was nearly impossible to read. Or perhaps the hermit spent too much time alone to remember how to carry out a polite conversation. “Ignore my question, it was unprofessional. You wanted me to assess your condition, not your moral fiber.” 

“You don’t get many visitors, do you?” Verandis pointed out, giving the man a wary nod, reluctantly rejoining him under the light of the organic chandelier. 

“No. But that is not what we are discussing.” The hermit replied defensively, crossing his arms and abandoning his attempts at civility. “Now, back to you, what about the benefits of your condition? Can you name a few?” He more demanded, than asked.

Verandis put his hands behind his back and tilted his head to the side, gathering his thoughts. “Well, I don’t age. And I don’t have to worry about diseases. I’m faster, stronger and far more resilient than any mortal. And my senses are much sharper.” He enumerated, his tone much calmer. “But the most obvious advantage is that I will never die… unless killed. But that is not an easy feat.”

“Has anyone ever tried to dispose of you?” Dio’s tone betrayed morbid curiosity.

“More than once.” Was the grim reply. 

“And can I assume the commonly known weaknesses of your kind are true? Sunlight, fire, holy items?” The Dunmer quickly changed subjects, before he could lose his subject again.

“Depends on the individual. Some of my kind, usually the weaker breeds, burst into flames at the slightest kiss of the sun. I’m simply… uncomfortable in daylight. And much weaker, but still more capable than the average vampire. Fire is dangerous indeed, but can be healed over time. As for faith… I suppose it depends on the individual’s convictions. And whomever is wielding the sacred object.”

“So, from what I understand, you are of superior stock?” The man dared assess, excited to have such a unique subject to examine.

Unexpectedly, Verandis was upon him, causing the Dunmer to freeze from shock at his guest’s unnatural speed. The man braced himself, but the vampire remained still, bending over him slightly, obstructing him in his thin form’s shadow. He swallowed, then exhaled slowly, not sure what was going to happen now.

“I am as pure as it gets, but that’s not information I’m willing to discuss.” The pale face drew closer to the Dunmer’s. “So, tell me, mad hermit, do you believe I am a monster, sent from the deepest pit of Oblivion?”

“No, not really.” Dio’s managed to keep his tone quiet and collected, despite the real danger of being maimed, possibly fed on and killed by the man. “The power that created you is evil in its purest form, but only a fool is a blind slave to the limitations of his nature. Are you a fool?” He asked, rising his brow, braving the vampire’s gaze, though his fast heartbeat betrayed he was not entirely unfazed.

“Depends who you ask.” Verandis let out a weak snicker, withdrawing from the mortal to allow him a moment to calm down and gather his bearings. “Would you then say I have a place in this world, despite my dark origins?”

The Dunmer rolled his eyes, taken aback by the question. “I do not deal in esoteric matters, I need tangible data to work with! If you need me to assess how your existence reflects on your environment, then I would have to study you in your natural habitat.”

“I’m afraid that is not possible, I will be leaving shortly.” Verandis shook his head with a frown, already thinking about the road ahead of him with no fixed destination. 

“Fine, I can pack my things in less than an hour.”

“Pardon?” The vampire blinked confused. “I’m not sure I understood you correctly?”

Dio Grumbled, reaching Verandis in a few long steps. “You did. And I am not taking no for an answer. You are the most fascinating creature I have ever laid my eyes upon, and I want to learn more about you. I do not care where you plan to go next, but I want to be able to observe you. I don’t expect anything in return, but knowledge. You said that you meant me no harm, but know that if you leave without me, you will be guilty of breaking a man’s spirit, after so unexpectedly revealing yourself to him. So, tell me, are you that cruel?”

Verandis laughed, taking the mortal’s hands into his. He gave the man a wide grin, his amusement growing bigger seeing the intense look in the Dunmer’s red eyes. “You are truly mad.” He exclaimed with unexpected affection. 

The scene blurred and faded into blinding whiteness, from which a new memory slowly resurfaced. Gradually, the two spectral women could make out details of a new setting; winding grassy hills, marble architecture, clear nighttime sky, cypris trees and the distant sound of waves and crying seagulls painted a serene picture. This location must have been somewhere along the shores of the Gold Coast. A couple emerged from behind a neatly trimmed hedge wall, deep in conversation, their body language betraying some degree of familiarity. Verandis and Dio – both dressed in travel attire suited for the warm climate of Cyrodiil’s western coast. 

“I made some interesting discoveries with the saliva samples you so generously provided.” Dio revealed nonchalantly, yet the spark in his eye gave away how excited he was to share his discoveries. His hair was pulled back in a loose knot and his beard trimmed down to a carefully contoured stubble. 

“Oh? Do tell.” Verandis replied in that polite, encouraging tone Adusa and Gwendis knew so well. 

“I introduced both samples to my own blood. The one taken from you when you were hungry kept it from curdling for several hours. The one taken after you were sated almost instantly caused it to form scabs. I hypothesize, that something about your saliva changes based on how well fed you are, but I need to run more tests to be sure.”

“Just tell me when you’ll need me to spit into a cup again.” The vampire nodded with an amused smirk, staring up at the night sky. “We’ve been travelling for some time now. How are you enjoying this partnership?” He suddenly changed subjects.

Dio was taken aback. Was it by the personal nature of the question, or the oddly warm tone in which it was asked? He didn’t know, but it took him a moment to clear his throat and come up with a dignified response. “I enjoy being around you. Aside from being a fascinating subject to study, you are also quite pleasant company.” He confessed, staring down at the marble steps ahead of them as they began to climb a steep hill overlooking the ocean.

“Would you say… there is something more between us than your academic interest?” Verandis pressed, not taking his eyes off the stars above, somehow managing to keep walking without tripping over his own feet.

“Let’s not go that far.”

“Are you sure?” The vampire teased, widening his grin.

“Y-yes. This is strictly professional, why do you pester me so? And why are you smiling?” Dio grunted, glad Verandis was more preoccupied with the stars, lest he saw the blush creeping up his dark-grey cheeks.

The vampire halted midway to the top of the hill. Finally, he turned his attention away from the sky, staring into the man’s eyes with such tenderness, that Dio held in his breath speechless.

“Because you’ve been holding my hand for the past thirty minutes.” Verandis patiently explained, giving the Dunmer’s hand a light squeeze.

Loudly, Dio exhaled the breath he was holding in. He stared down to find that indeed, they were holding hands like a couple, fingers intertwined and some of his warmth seeping into the vampire’s normally cold palm. He gulped, not daring to look up at the other man, continuing gawking at their hands like it were some anomaly. 

But the moment was stretching long enough to get even more awkward. He braved to look up at his companion. Verandis stood tall and still, saying nothing, his mouth still stretched into that content smirk. Dio pressed his lips into a thin line, adamant about doing something. He ascended one step, his burning eyes now almost level with the Altmer vampire’s. Verandis tilted his head to the side, satisfied with the reaction he was getting from the normally grumpy and reserved Dunmer.

There was only one way to wipe that stupid grin off his face. Stifling an annoyed grunt, Dio broke their connection, instead seizing the dammed bloodsucker by the shoulders, pulling closer. Like with all first kisses, theirs was awkward with teeth clashing and a moment of uncertainty whether it was going to be reciprocated. But the way Verandis ran his hands down the Dunmer’s sides and kissed back proved it was.

After a longer moment filled with soft sighs and pleased grunts, Dio pulled away, loudly catching his breath.

“Somehow, I thought it would feel more toothy.” He bit his tongue, seeing his partner’s brows rise. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be a bastard at a time like this. I… I am fond of you.” He confessed, growing even redder in the face from having to say out loud something this personal. “As unprofessional as this is, I began to think of this partnership as something more than scientific. We agreed to never talk about each other’s past, but after travelling with you and experiencing so much of the world together, I can’t believe I wasted so many years hiding in that grotto. I’m… glad to have met you.”

Good thing a flock of seagulls screamed somewhere nearby, cutting his ramblings short before he got too sappy. 

“So am I.” Verandis expressed, with his arms so naturally wrapped around the Dunmer’s waist. “I never thought I would grow close to anyone again. You’re not making it easy, but I’m glad to have you around.”

“I’m glad we have an understanding.” Dio peeled himself away from the vampire’s embrace, instead taking him by the hand again. “Now come on, you promised me a view of the entire bay.”

“Right behind you.” 

Gwendis and Adusa shared a dumbfounded look, whilst the scene once again drowned in white, this time changing into a spacious and tastefully furnished Imperial-style room, which also served as a study and laboratory. Dio, slightly older and with first wisps of grey hair frosting his temples, was muttering incoherently to himself, bending over a pile of notes laid out on a large table. Judging by his scruffy, unkempt stubble, disheveled hair and heavy eyelids, he was working on something day and night.

“Stupid.” He said to himself, tiredly rubbing his temples, visibly exhausted. “Damn it all, what am I missing?”

“Sleep, food and a thorough bath.” Verandis enumerated, briskly entering the room. “I swear, I saw you in the exact same spot and position when I went to rest at dusk. You haven’t slept, have you?”

“No.” Dio instantly came clean, too tired to argue. He took a step back, almost tripping over the chair behind him. Muttering a curse, he took a seat, immediately going numb.

Verandis shook his head in disapproval, leaning against the table. “You wanted to take one year off and settle down to do some work. I obliged, but I had no idea you’d be pushing yourself this hard. Give yourself a rest!” He pleaded, glancing at his partner’s notes. 

Unsurprisingly to either of them, Dio got up, almost losing what little energy he had left and staggering back. Yet, he forced himself to remain standing, albeit with some effort. 

“I can’t. I have too much to do.” He persisted, joining Verandis to sling his arm around his waist and rest his head on his shoulder. “I’m close to a breakthrough with my bloodpearl formula. Just think – a way to preserve large quantities of blood in small orbs! A handful could last you for months, much more efficient than your beloved flask.” He murmured with eyes closed, glad to have his partner press his cold hand to his burning forehead.

“I like my flask.” Verandis refuted. “I made the preservation enchantment myself.” 

“Vessels can be broken and liquids can be spilled. A pearl could be in your possession until you needed it, and only break down into liquid into your mouth. But…”

He withdrew, reaching to pull from the opposite edge of the table a small metal box. Glancing at his partner with embarrassment, he opened it to reveal a batch of bloodpearls – cracked and oozing unpleasantly smelling blood.

“These are only prototypes. You’ll get there.” Verandis assured calmly, resting his hands in Dio’s shoulders.

“When?” Dio groaned frustrated, craning his head to give him a pained look. “Tomorrow? In a week? A year?”

Verandis frowned, yet remained quiet, patiently caressing his partner’s tense shoulders, sensing something else was at play. “This isn’t about the pearls, is it?”

Dio hung his head, hunching his shoulders, staring blankly at his work. “No…” He confessed. “I wasted so many years isolating myself from the world. Now, I have so many ideas and want to do so much, but… My time is finite. And short.”

Abruptly, he slammed the lid shut, pushing the box away with too much force, sending it flying off the table and crashing on the floor. He let out a frustrated grunt, making an offhanded gesture at his partner to not bother with the mess. He seated himself again, hiding his face in his hands.

“We both know there is a solution.” Verandis calmly said, making no note of the scene.

Dio pulled his hands away from his face, revealing a frustrated scowl. “I did not ask to join you all those years ago in hopes of gaining immortality!” He snapped, sinking his nails into his laps. 

“I know. And I would have never agreed to have you accompany me if it were otherwise.” Verandis patiently retorted, moving to stand at his side.

The mortal instinctively reached for the vampire’s hand, saying nothing and struggling with his own thoughts, but mostly struggling to stay awake.

“I want you to have the choice I never had.” Verandis went on. “Think about it for a few days, I don’t want you to feel pressured. And,” he paused to gently take Dio by the chin to look up at him, “I promise I will respect whatever decision you make.”

“Even if I decide to grow old and eventually die? Would you still have me?” The Dunmer asked with a sly grin.

“Yes, I will stay with you to the end of your days, even when your hair goes completely grey and you’ll get all wrinkly.” Verandis assured with a shadow of a smirk playing in the corner of his mouth. 

Dio laughed, slowly losing his last shreds of lucidity. “I’ll think about it. After I’ve gotten some sleep.” He said, before letting out a long yawn, closing his eyes. “But you know something?”

“Hm?”

“Eternity with you does not sound too bad.” 

The scene once again disappeared into nothingness, but this time the two women were not alone. 

“Having fun?” The present-day specter of the Count asked, suddenly appearing between them.

The two jumped away, caught in the act by their maker, utterly terrified.

“This one is-!” Adusa fell silent as Verandis rose a finger without looking at her, his attention consumed by a new scene unfolding. 

“Please, don’t speak.” He ordered without raising his voice. “We will talk later.”

They were now witnessing nighttime woods submerged in snow, with a crumbling ruin of architecture neither Adusa nor Gwendis could identify looming in the background.

Past-Verandis and Dio, both immortal and dressed in thick fur coats, walked a barely visible path through the eerily quiet woods, both silent and tense.

“Why did you insist we go out on a walk at this hour? I have tons of work to do.” Dio complained, struggling to keep up with his partner. 

“Yes, you seem to be completely consumed by whatever your new project is…” Verandis spoke without looking over his shoulder, then halted unexpectedly to confront the Dunmer. “I saw your notes. You know which I am talking about.” He stated flatly.

The Dunmer gripped his staff harder, realizing why he was abruptly pulled away from his work. “Curious, considering I had them locked away.” His voice dropped and suddenly he also realized why they were trekking through so much white – snow was not a good conductor of electricity. 

“They are alarming, to say the least.” Verandis remained calm, not reaching for his own staff just yet. “You’ve been avoiding me for some time now and I can feel a rift forming between us. What is going on and why are you keeping things from me?”

“Y-you!” He scoffed frustrated like a scolded apprentice. “You wouldn’t understand!”

“I can’t if you won’t tell me.”

“Damn it Verandis!” He yelled, something deep inside him finally breaking. “I’m not like you! You asked me to keep our existence a secret and to avoid unnecessary cruelty to mortals, and that is what I did for so many years, but I’m fed up with forcing myself to meet your standards! I already lived one life where I had to hide who I truly was to make everyone around me happy! I…” He stepped back, shaking his head with eyes wide open. “I won’t do it again. Not even for you.” He said much quieter, giving his partner a pained look.

“I told you all those years ago, that our gift is a responsibility.” Verandis frowned, remaining in place, like he always did when arguing with someone dear to him. 

“We’re predators!” Dio practically screamed the obvious, scaring an owl off its perch. “If you wish to dedicate your cursed existence to something grand and noble, then do it! But I am not going to spend eternity hiding in the shadows and coddling mortals to feel better about myself!”

“What are you planning, then? What is it that you so desperately desire?” Verandis asked quietly, alert but still not making the slightest move.

Dio shook his head, raising his arms to the sky, trying to find the right words, but he was all of a sudden at a loss for them. He hung his head, letting his arms fall numbly to his sides.

“I… I want to be more. And for that I need more power.” He confessed.

“So, you’re researching ways to make your blood stronger by taking essence from a pureblood? Dio, we’ve talked about this, the only way to become a pureblood is to be directly corrupted by the Lord of Brutality. And that is horror I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. More so, your plan is just… perverse.” Verandis let out a frustrated sigh.

“Relax, I’m not eying you as my potential subject, I already have your blood, so I would gain nothing from you. That, and I still have some damned respect for you.” The Dunmer jerked the corner of his mouth upward, his voice dripping with venom. 

“Oh, I’m not worried about my own neck. And I couldn’t care less about whatever pureblood you would so foolishly target.” Verandis declared unbothered, making a step toward his partner, risking to put his hands on his shoulders and look him deep in the eyes. “It’s you that I’m worried about. You have a brilliant mind, but your mad ambitions…”

“At least they are mine!” Dio snapped, pushing him away. “Damn you, why do you always have to get in the way of my plans?!”

“Because they are ruining you! Why can’t you see that?” 

“The only thing ruining me is-!” 

Dio shut his mouth before he could say too much. Resigned, he shrugged his shoulders with a weak, bitter laugh. Verandis finally slowly reached for his staff, preparing for the inevitable. They shared a look, both deep in pain, but neither was going to surrender. 

“Ashes… I actually thought I could be clever enough to carry out my plans behind your back. I’m no fool, I know I’m no match to you.” Dio grinned morbidly, opting to conjure in his free hand flame rather than lightning. “So be it then, I’d rather die than stay untrue to myself.”

“I’m not going to kill you. But I can’t let you loose either, you’re too dangerous to be left to your own devices.”

With that Verandis struck, disarming his opponent with a wave of arcane force. Dio’s staff sprang from his grip, disappearing somewhere between the trees. Verandis drew a wide arch with his own staff, snuffing the flames the Dunmer was already weaving into existence. He then reached Dio in one long leap, casting his weapon aside. 

Dio was expecting impact and force, but the other man’s open palms rested gently on his chest and forehead, somehow completely immobilizing him. He moved his lips, but no sound came. With terror in his wide eyes, he realized his legs were giving in and he was slowly falling to his knees. His vision blurred and his eyelids grew heavy, but he was still able to conjure pure hatred in his eyes, shooting his maker a glare that could kill. 

“It’s alright, you’re just falling asleep.” Verandis reassured, his voice falling into a pained whisper as he too fell onto his knees in the snow, holding his numbing partner in his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I should have realized sooner, then maybe I could have… Forgive me. This is for the best, but please forgive me.”

He remained still for a longer moment whispering his apologies. Finally, after saying his goodbyes, he picked the slumbering Dio up and carried off in his arms towards the ancient ruin. The rest fell into darkness as the string of memories ended. 

\---

Adusa opened her eyes, waking up with her cheek smushed against the cold stone floor. She rose on her elbow, realizing she was still holding Gwendis in her protective embrace. The Bosmer regained her consciousness a second later, letting out a hiss of protest and pushing herself away from the Khajiit. 

Yet, before a catfight could break out, they both craned their heads to look up at a shadow obstructing the chandelier, finding the Count standing over them with his arms crossed.

“I don’t want to know whose idea this was or why you did it.” He quietly said, and although he did not raise his voice, the two of them could feel the weight of his displeasure. “I just want you two to know, that I am deeply disappointed in you. And,” he gave Adusa-daro a quick look, shaking his head in disbelief, “that I did not expect something like that from my own blood.” 

The two quickly scrambled from the floor, standing up in front of their maker like scolded children. 

“It was me!” Gwendis spoke first “I-!”

Verandis silenced her with a slight gesture before she could take all the blame on herself. “I don’t want to hear any excuses, because I trust you won’t do something like this again.” He said, and the look in his eye made it clear he was not interested in a longer conversation. “I will be busy with some research for quite some time. Adusa, I need you to continue monitoring Montclair’s forces in the meantime. As for you Gwendis… I need to speak to the High King in Shornhelm, and you’re coming with me.”

With that, he left his two shamed children to ponder their behavior.


	9. Chapter 9

“My King, it would be an honor if you would join me for evening prayer.”

Emeric froze in his tracks, hearing the voice of the pious Countess. He closed his eyes and counted to three. He then opened them and turned to face Countess Tamirth, hoping his face was neutral.

“Of course.” He forced a smile.

Eselde smiled back pleased, giving a deep bow before leading him to the steps of the altar. The two of them knelt and clasped their hands for prayer. Then, unexpectedly the woman started singing a traditional Breton hymn to the Light. She was pouring all her heart into it, but had a terrible singing voice. Emeric grated his teeth, already regretting coming to the chapel, but he didn’t like staying in the upper city estate his Lion Guard commandeered for him either. 

Everything about Rivenspire rubbed him the wrong way, and not just because of the bickering nobles or eerily dark atmosphere of the land. It was Ranser. Wherever Emeric would turn, he could see scars left by the Mad King’s damned war. And as much as he wanted to take a grip of himself, he could not push down the feeling that he made a grave mistake all those years ago when he insisted the nobles shared power, instead of appointing one central ruler. And ever since returning to Rivenspire, he was losing sleep, fearing that history would repeat itself due to his mistake.

He let out a deep sigh, resting his forehead on his folded hands, glad that Eselde’s singing drowned any other sound. It was done, regret was pointless, he just had to live with his decision and make sure this time he makes the right choice.

Which begged the question… who should take the throne of Rivenspire once Montclair is dealt with? Tamirth? She was a good pick, coming from an old and respected family. However, she was inexperienced and it was clear, that she was more preoccupied with the spiritual, rather than mundane. Dorell? Yes, he was a good counterbalance to the Countess, and despite being a short-tempered arse, he had a strategic mind and would make sure the realm was protected from both outside and inside threats. Yet, the man had the talent of antagonizing his allies. There was also Verandis, but the Count made it clear he had no interest in any real political power. Also, people tended to get anxious around immortal rulers, to the point of storming their estates with torches and pitchforks.

Ignoring the grating vocals, he decided to cross that bridge once he got to it.

\---

Gwendis shrugged, crossing the chapel’s threshold. But it was not the holy aura of the temple that repelled her, no. It was the vibrating crescendo of Countess Tamirth’s loud prayer, magnified by the building’s excellent acoustics.

She glanced up at Verandis, but the Count was deep in thought, completely ignoring her. He was like that ever since they set off from the castle. His silence allowed Gwendis to reflect on their way. She wholeheartedly regretted her little stunt. Not only because she betrayed her maker’s trust and breached his privacy by viewing memories that were so deeply personal and painful to him. She was being a selfish, jealous brat, whilst her House needed her. 

She would never make that mistake again.

The two of them halted, allowing the mortals to finish their prayer. Gwendis risked to reach and pinch the edge of the Count’s sleeve. He looked down, snapping out of his deep reverie, almost surprised to see her at his side. 

“I don’t expect you to just forgive and forget, but I’m-”

“Count Ravenwatch!” A Breton man called out, having no concept of an indoor voice.

Ignoring the disapproving looks from a group of nearby priests, he approached with a cocky grin, his polished armor casting reflections of the candles the priests lit for the evening. 

“Ser Gautier.” Verandis greeted politely with a slight nod. “How goes protecting His Majesty?”

“Oh, nothing to be worried about. Though, I am afraid that assaults on his peace of mind are something I am not able to protect him from.” The man sighed, pointing his head at the Countess. “Perhaps I should protect the King from Countess Eselde with my own body? I think that is a sacrifice I wouldn’t mind… Hello, who is this?” He instantly abandoned his salacious tone, noticing the Bosmer peeking from behind the Count.

“This is Gwendis, my daughter.” Verandis introduced, putting much emphasis on the last word, whilst protectively putting his hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“How goes it?” She more dared than asked, giving the cocky Breton a wide, toothy grin making sure he got a good look at her fangs.

The Breton tensed, unsure what to do or say, but before the scene could get awkward, the King himself approached with the Countess in tow.

“Please tell me you got some good news.” He addressed the Count, then let out a quiet sigh at the courteous bows he instantly received from the man and his progeny.

“I have a progress report from our mutual friend.” Verandis said, retrieving from his robe’s many sewed-in pockets the small notebook Dio entrusted him with. “He himself is investigating Reezal-Jul’s last known whereabouts, per my request.”

“Let’s hope we’ll have one less problem to worry about before dawn comes.” Emeric wished out lout, taking the notebook to flip through the pages.

“And where is the lizard sulking?” Darien curiously inquired, maneuvering to stand between his King and the Countess.

“The mountains to the south-west.”

“Wait, that’s where my sister is stationed!” The Countess unexpectedly burst out, clutching her hand over her chest. “She’s overseeing a camp I asked her to set up for Crestshade’s displaced residents! Count, how can you stand here calmly, whilst she and those poor souls could be in danger!”

Trusting his instincts, Verandis quickly glanced at Darien, their eyes instantly locking and a silent understanding being formed. 

“My King,” the Breton spoke, falling to his knee, despite Emeric’s loud sigh, “If you would allow it, I can rally a few men and ensure the refugees are well protected.”

“Granted.” Emeric nodded, eyes still glued to Dio’s notes. 

“And I am coming with you!” The Countess swore with fire, unceremoniously reaching to pull Gautier up by the arm. “I may not have a strong sword arm, but those poor refugees need the Light now more than ever!”

Confused, the knight glanced at the King, but Emeric was ignoring the display, muttering to himself whilst deciphering the Dunmer’s handwriting. As far as things were concerned, they were done. Unsure if he was going to regret the beautiful (yet overzealous) woman’s company, Darien saluted, then allowed the loudly ushering Countess to drag him out of the chapel.

“Go with them.” Verandis quietly sad, gently nudging Gwendis towards the temple’s grand doors. “I have faith in you.”

Wide-eyed, she gave him a surprised look, then nodded. She was not going to let him down.

\---

“Are you absolutely sure that he’s here?” Captain Janeve of House Tamirth wiped the cold sweat off her brow, looking past the unexpected messenger to see first bonfires being lit by the destitute people of Crestshade. The sun was setting fast over Camp Tamirth and they needed as much light as possible to ward themselves from whatever evil was lurking in the night. 

“Positive.” The pale, sharp-faced Dunmer replied, leaning against his staff. “And I’m here to kill him.”

“Stand in line, friend.” The Captain snickered, despite fear slowly settling in the back of her head, as the last rays of sunlight faded over the horizon. “I would love nothing more than to take the Argonian and pluck him to his bare meat, one scale at a time, but these people need me. I cannot abandon them, especially when that madman is lurking nearby. I’m afraid I must ask you…”

“A small favor.” Dio interrupted, as if expecting her to want something from him. “Fine, give me whatever miniscule task you have for me and I will be off.”

Janeve let out a quiet huff, tilting her head to the side and resting her fists on her hips. Who was this odd man? Was he sent by Eselde? No, not likely, and she was certain Baron Dorell would not employ such a blunt man either. Her bet was Count Ravenwatch, the man seemed to attract eccentric individuals. 

“A few people have gone missing in the night.” She finally said, deciding to listen to her gut and trust the elf. “Ever since establishing our camp, we have been repelling more and more Bloodfiends. Now that I think of it, their numbers and ferocity might have something to do with the bastard.”

“Just point me to where they’ve been seen last. But no promises.”

She let out a sigh of relief as the man set off, vanishing into the darkness. She looked up at the stary sky, but the glimmering stars provided little comfort. Wasting no time on pointless contemplation, Janeve crossed the camp, heading towards the cooking fire to get herself a hot cup of strong Redguard brew to ward off sleepiness during her nighttime vigil.

As she was warming her hands with the piping-hot metal cup, she realized the nearby wildlife was eerily quiet. Feeling the hairs at the back of her neck stand up, she felt with terrifying certainty that she was being watched. Slowly and with her heart at the back of her throat, she turned around to look at the nearby bushes, finding several red dots in the blackness staring back at her. The cup fell to the ground, as Eselde reached for her sword and drew breath for a rally cry. Her voice remained strong and firm, even as she saw the dots in the night move with startling speed and could hear pained screams of her men somewhere behind her. 

\---

Although the man named Darien Gautier had not made his first impression positive, Gwendis was relieved to learn that his nonchalant and salacious demeanor was not all the man had to offer. As she followed him and the Countess from a safe distance, the young vampire could clearly see man could keep his cool and command a group of soldiers, whilst withstanding Eselde’s increasing panic.

“Can’t we pick up the pace?” The Countess pressed, clutching her mount’s reins. “I shudder to think what could happen if we arrive too late.” 

“We need to proceed with caution, my lady.” Darien replied calmly, eyes fixed on the road ahead of them. “We can’t risk getting ambushed in the night by Bloodfiends or Montclair’s lackeys.”

“But my sister-!”

“Is a woman of some mettle, from what I heard from Skordo. I trust she can hold the camp until reinforcements arrive.” The man remained calm and his tone reassuring. 

“Yes… I suppose you’re right. Apologies, but I must pray for ours and their safety.”

The Countess then fell silent, only occasionally muttering a word of two, deep in contemplation. In time her red cheeks paled, going back to their natural fairness. Thanks to either her quiet prayer, or the road going through relatively safe parts of the land, they reached their destination undisturbed. 

It was what they found when they reached Camp Tamirth, that made the Countess gasp in horror and Darien quickly bark orders at his men. The tents were either stomped, burning, or torn asunder, their white canvas walls splashed with still glistening stains of red. The ground bore signs of struggle, and there were bodies. Of animals, Mer, and men, bearing terrible marks of claws and teeth, some mutilated beyond recognition. Amongst the bodies were bent shapes, hissing, grunting and completely preoccupied with feeding on the fallen refugees. 

“Janeve!” Eselde cried out, jumping off her horse, ready to charge head first into the darkness.

“Stay back Countess!” Darien warned.

The commotion caught the attention of the Bloodfiends. Snarling, the creatures abandoned their feast, slowly closing in on the reinforcements. One, previously a scrawny Breton woman, leapt with unnatural speed and force, aiming at Eselde. The woman and her horse let out a primal cry of fear. The animal bucked, freeing its reins from the noble woman’s grasp, and blindly rushed forward, disappearing somewhere past the ruined tents. Closing her eyes and shielding herself from the inevitable blow, the Countess braced herself for the inevitable.

But the strike never came, as Gwendis materialized between her and the creature, lodging one of her twin axes deep in the Bloodfiend’s cranium. 

“What are you all looking at?” She snarked, sharply freeing the blade from the now dead monster’s skull, offhandedly kicking it away somewhere beyond the faint light of the burning camp. “More are coming! I’ll protect the Countess, you do your thing!”

The Lion Guard drew their weapons and the ground shuddered as they all dismounted on Darinen’s command. More hissing and snarling followed, as the remaining Bloodfiends caught onto their arrival. Whispering a quiet plea for strength, Countess Eselde Tamirth fell to her knees, trembling and waiting for it all to be over.

\---

“Ashes, what now?!” Dio hissed, his sensitive sense of smell catching the scent of burning tents and freshly spilled blood, some of it not mortal. 

He was tired, hungry and barely able to keep his composure after the troubles he went through to wrangle the two missing refugees; a young man named Jonah Marose, who seemed to be touched by the gods, and his ailing mother.

“He was here!” Jonah whispered with terror, staring wide-eyed at the gleam and smoke coming from the camp’s direction. “The bad man! The evil man!”

“Reezal-Jul…” the woman, up to now completely docile and quiet, whispered in a low, rumbling manner. “…master…”

Sharply, the Dunmer looked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of her unnaturally pale face and her eyes reflecting the sparse light in a faint red glow. Another Bloodfiend, how did he not sense the corruption inside her? Did the damned lizard control the spread of the infection? He closed the gap, reaching for his staff, ready to quickly dispose of her before she could have the chance to cause any problems.

“No!” Jonah cried, getting between them with his hands raised, ready to protect his mother, despite what she had just become. 

“Stay back, fool!” 

Just as Dio anticipated, Jonah’s mother dug her nails in her son’s shoulders, bearing her nascent fangs to sink into his neck. Jonah let out a pained scream, struggling to break free, tearing his plain shirt and own skin in the process. Dio Grunted, sidestepping to get closer to the woman. Quickly, he twisted his hand into her hair, wrenching her head and mouth away from Jonah. He then took a firmer grip of his staff, ramming the length of the bladed shaft down the Bloodfiend’s throat, piercing her heart in the process. The creature shrieked, gurgled, then went rigid for a second, before sliding down to her knees with her lifeless eyes open, glaring at the sky.

“M-mo-!” Jonah whimpered, before falling on all fours to loudly retch and empty his stomach. 

Making no comment, Dio pulled his weapon free, letting the Bloodfiend’s corpse fall to the side. With disgust, he saw that his staff was drenched in viscous, chunky gore. Great.

“Get up.” He quietly ordered, retrieving a fatigued handkerchief to wipe the blood off before it seeped into the wood. “You need to see a priest fast.”

“W-whaa?” Jonah mumbled, collecting himself after watching his life-giver unceremoniously killed before his very eyes.

“She raked your shoulders with her nails pretty deep and there is a chance she might have infected you.” Dio explained, finally looking at the trembling, traumatized youth.

Jonah got a grip of himself, wiping tears off his grimy cheeks with his equally grimy fists. “It’s no use.” He said, his voice oddly calm and eerily hollow. “He already swept through the camp. The priest is dead, I can feel it.” 

He shook his head resigned, but followed the Dunmer nonetheless.

\---

“I’m glad the Count had you tail us.” Darien gave the feisty Bosmer a faint smile, poking with the tip of his sword a fallen Bloodfiend, just to make sure the thing was truly dead. “I’d offer to buy him a stiff drink, but I’m guessing that’s not an option with your kind.”

“No, unless you want to lay down on the dining table in Castle Ravenwatch in nothing but your smalls.” Gwendis snickered, sheathing her weapons. “But yea, Verandis had the feeling you could use some backup.”

“Quite the little stalker, aren’t you? I had no idea you were on our tail the entire time. And I’m somewhat observant.” He snickered, almost instantly bending forward with a pained groan, clutching his side. Looking down, he realized one of the bastards managed to slash through his armor and he was now bleeding profusely. 

Gwendis was upon him the next second. Ignoring the tantalizing smell of fresh blood, she guided Darien to sit on the ground, then retrieved from her satchel a healing potion. Suppressing her predatory instincts, she stepped away, allowing the man to drink up and let the magic do its thing. Darien chugged the entire thing down in one gulp, letting out a groan of sheer relief once his flesh began to heal, but had not dared get up just yet. The potion might have stopped the bleeding, but he lost too much blood and needed more than just a moment to regain his strength.

“Janeve!” Countess Eselde cried out, running through the ruins of the camp, several times almost tripping over the bodies of mortals and monsters alike. “Janeve!”

“What in Oblivion happened here?!” Dio called out, appearing seemingly out of thin air with a distraught and wounded young man in tow. 

“Where have you been?!” Eselde demanded to know, approaching with her trembling finger pointed at the Dunmer. “Bloodfiends attacked the camp and my sister is missing!”

“What?! Damn it all, of course they did!” The man grunted, catching a glimpse of Gwendis supporting the weary Darien as they headed towards them, despite the Breton’s loud assurance that he was fine to walk on his own.

“There!” Jonah cried out unexpectedly, outstretching both arms towards the dark hills in the south-west. “The bad man! The evil man! Shadowfate Cavern, he-he’s there! He’s doing- Oh no, the poor captain!”

Overwhelmed by terror and grief, he fell to his knees, hiding his face in his dirty hands and sobbing uncontrollably. 

“By the Light! What is he doing to my sister? Speak!” Eselde commanded, taking him by the shoulders to give a good shake, but Jonah was unresponsive, only able to wail louder.

“I’m going after him.” Dio declared with grim determination, staring at the dark peaks the boy pointed to.

“I’m coming with you!” Eselde swore, getting up, paying no mind of dirt and blood staining her clothing. “I’ll tear that damned lizard to shreds if he dared lay a finger on my sister!”

“Well… shit.” Darien muttered under his breath, seeing the Dunmer completely ignore the Countess and head out without as much as a word, to the woman’s loud displeasure. “My feisty friend, I need to ask you…”

“Well, of course I’m going with them and make sure the Countess is safe.” Gwendis rolled her eyes, risking to release the Breton, relieved to find that Darien could stand on his own. “You take care of the refugees for me, aright?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

\---

“Janeve has always been my shield and sword. Light preserve her, I hope she’s alright. What am I saying, of course she’s alright!” The Countess babbled, whilst her travel companion remained quiet and tense, commanding a quick pace.

“Stop making a racket.” He finally said, voice colorless and eyes still fixed on the hills. “I’d rather you survive this night, but you don’t have to make things more difficult with your constant talking.”

“Watch who you’re speaking t-! By the Light! What is that?!” The woman cried out unexpectedly, freezing in her tracks with her eyes fixed somewhere above them. 

Dio perked up his head to find a set of piercing red eyes staring back at them from the top of an old oak. What he took as part of the tree’s crown, was actually a giant bat, awakened by Eselde. The monstrous bat spread its leathery wings, letting out a haunting shriek. Yet, before it could take off and attack, a war axe flew above their heads, hitting the creature between the eyes, sending it crashing to the ground.

Gushing dark, viscous blood, the bat rose its head, letting out a louder, angrier shriek. Hissing, Dio quickly closed distance, staff in hand. The bladed tip of the weapon shot forward, piercing the bat’s chest, swiftly ending the noise and the creature’s life. Disgusted, the Dunmer pulled out his shaft with a loud squelch, spilling more blood onto the road. Ge have up on cleaning his weapon the second time, at peace with the knowledge he was going to have it soaked in more gore soon. 

“Good riddance. I wasn’t sure if I could aim this good a second time, so I’m glad you finished it off.” Gwendis quipped, appearing next to him to reach for her war axe. “I hear you’re hunting a lizard, so I thought I tag along.”

“We both know this wasn’t your idea.” Dio stated flatly, turning around to check up on the trembling Countess. Eselde was covering her mouth with both hands, but thankfully had enough composure to keep herself from screaming or running. Or retching. 

The Bosmer grinned, showing off her little sharp teeth. “True. But you’re not getting rid of me. Let’s make a deal, I’ll watch over the Countess while you tackle your prey, what do you say?”

Dio said nothing, only stroked his stubble in contemplation, staring back at her. Then, after a moment of pause, he nodded and continued his walk, letting Gwendis handle the shaken Countess.

\---

“Janeve!” Eselde cried, falling to her knees next to her sister’s unmoving pale body. “Janeve! Please, no…”

Trembling, she bent over the woman to test her pulse, but she found none. Breaking down in tears, she fell onto the fallen Captain, sobbing loudly. Still, she could not drown out the sounds of the mad Dunmer fighting the even madder Argonian. 

“Shite!” Gwendis hissed under her breath, armed and ready to hack into bits any more Bloodfiends that would dare come close to the Countess. But it would seem she and the Dunmer made quick end of all of them, leaving only Reezal-Jul to be dealt with.

Dio’s head hit the stone wall of the cavern after the Argonian sent him flying with just the flick of the wrist. Verandis was right, the lizard was not to be underestimated. Ignoring the ringing in his ears, he rolled to the side, dodging Reezal-Jul’s ball of fire. He picked himself up, dodging another fireball, then warding himself with a protective sigil from another. The flaming projectile shattered against his barrier, illuminating the cavern in a burst of white light, reflected in the lizard’s pale eyes.

Reezal-Jul clasped his hands together, conjuring another spell, but this time he opted for frost. His thin, clawed palm shoot forward, assaulting the barrier with a continuous barrage of ice shards. Dio braced himself, focusing to maintain a steady flow of magica, but he could not hold the barrier up forever. Damn it all, he got what he deserved for being too confident in his own abilities.

“Sssuch intoxicating power…” The mad Argonian purred, rolling out his thin forked tongue, unhurriedly approaching the struggling elf. “I will make sssure to thank the Count personally when I come to collect his head. But first, I will dispose of you and his nosy fledgling. Then, I will have some time to enjoy the Countess’ company, just like I enjoyed her sister’s. I wonder, can she match Janeve’s screaming?”

Hearing those words, the Countess wiped away her tears, abandoning Janeve’s body to stand up and face the lizard. Was it providence, or perhaps something in the Agronian’s tone that broke something in Eselde? It didn’t matter. Saying nothing, she passe Gwendis, gently putting her hand on the Bosmer’s shoulder to have the shorter woman step aside. 

“I will boil you alive in your own venom, wretch.” She quietly said, raising both her arms above her head, conjuring an impressive ball of blue light between her palms.

Caught off guard, the Argonian’s glowing eyes widened, catching a glimpse of the unassuming woman chucking a ball of magic at him. Before he could react, he was struck from the side, Eselde’s spell incinerating where it made contact. The cavern was filled with Reezal-Jul’s pained screech, as well as smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Wasting no time, Dio dispelled his already waning ward, opting for a physical confrontation. Fangs gnashed and eyes glowing red, he leapt towards the squirming Reezal-Jul, plunging his hand into the Argonian’s chest. The mad alchemist’s jaw dropped, whilst his pupils shrunk into tiny black dots, before he collapsed, whilst his heart remained in the Dunmer’s grasp.

“To Oblivion with you!” Eselde screamed through tears, falling onto her backside. “I hope Molag Bal turns you inside out!” She went on, picking up a rock to throw at the twitching body.

Despite being of noble upbringing, she allowed herself to hurl more insults and obscenities at the corpse, before feeling all her strength abandon her. Thankfully, Gwendis was at her side, supporting the fainting woman, before she could slump to her side and hurt her head.

“Dead?” The Bosmer made sure, letting Eselde’s cheek rest on her shoulder.

“Quite.” Was the reply.

The Argonian’s heart was sickly white and slippery, like the underbelly of a rotting fish. Cautiously, Dio lifted it to his nose to take a whiff. It smelled putrid. Disgusted, he threw it into the nearby brazier, letting the flames consume it. 

It was done, so now he could focus on… Wait, what was that faint sound? Something akin to… moaning? He glanced at the Bosmer, who’s supernatural hearing also picked up the unexpected sound. But it was neither of them, and definitely not the Countess. Reezal-Jul? Impossible, the vile Argonian was no more. 

“Ashes…” He muttered tiredly, observing the body of Captain Janeve rise. 

“Y’ffre…” Gwendis whispered, scrambling to move away from the woman with the unconscious Countess in her arms. “The poor Captain!”

Janeve stood up on uncertain feet, bent forward slightly. Confused, she looked around the blood-splattered cavern, trying to make some sense of her surroundings. Cautiously, Gwendis motioned to get behind the Dunmer whilst he assessed the danger. Janeve was obviously turned – her unnaturally white skin and sunken red eyes left no room for speculation. Question was, did Reezal-Jul turn her into a mindless Bloodfiend, or was there some sentience left in her?

The woman’s eyes slipped past the two Mer, setting on the pale, sweaty face of her sister. There was recognition in her glowing eyes as she let out a low rumble from the back of her throat.

“E-Eselde?”

Her own name being spoken somehow pulled Countess Tamirth back from unconsciousness. Her eyes fluttered open, whilst she peeled herself away from Gwendis’ protective embrace.

“Janeve… No, Janeve, not you…!” She whispered in horror, realizing what her sister had become. “S-stay back, foul creature! Don’t you dare come any closer!” She screamed, hiding behind the two other vampires.

The Captain flinched, hearing such cruel words coming from her own sister. Why was Eselde this cold? Wat… why did she feel so… numb. The last thing she remembered was the damned Argonian standing over her before smacking the side of her head with his staff. Yet, she felt no pain. Her head should be hurting, but she felt nothing. What was going on?

“By the Light…” She whimpered, realizing her chest was still.

“You dare speak of the Light?!” Eselde yelled, peeking from behind the unmoving Dunmer. “We cannot suffer that creature to live! That is no longer my sister, slay it!” She urged, grabbing the man by the shoulder. 

“No!” Gwendis protested, getting between the Countess and Dio, shielding the Captain with her own body. “You heard her, she spoke! She’s capable of rational thought!”

“So she is.” Dio agreed, shaking off Eselde. “But that only adds to our problems. Bloodfiend or not, we can’t have a newly made childe running around Rivenspire, especially under these circumstances. She’ll go feral or get herself killed, but not before taking a life or two.”

Gwendis bit down on her lip, glancing at Janeve. The Captain stepped back, meeting with the wall. She stared back at the Bosmer helplessly, like an animal caught in a trap, her life in the petite woman’s hands.

“She’s coming with me. Verandis can take care of her, just like he took care of me.” Gwendis said without hesitation, giving Janeve a reassuring nod.

Crossing his arms, the Dunmer grinned at the unexpected development. “Well, look at you fledgling! Your maker would be proud!” He snarked amused.

“I’m not afraid to punch your teeth in.” Gwendis warned, taking the Captain by the hand. “We’re heading back to Castle Ravenwatch. You escort the Countess back to Camp Tamirth, I’m sure the noble Ser Gautier is worried sick.”

“W-watch your tongue!” Eselde huffed taking a step forward, but Dio warded her from the two vampire women with his arm. “And I don’t remember anyone asking my permission to assimilate a member of my House into yours!”

“Take it up with the Count.” Gwendis snarked as a goodbye.

\---

Sending another tome floating back to its respective place in his impressive catalogue, Verandis let out a frustrated sigh. He spent the last few hours standing in the same spot at center of his library, surrpunded by floating books, working on narrowing down the location of the elusive Ayleid outpost. So far, he found vague mentions, a precious silk bookmark he thought lost decades ago, and a tome of pornographic Redguard poems which he was certain was not part of his collection… or at least not part of the official one. None of these got him closer to his goal. 

He was too tired to continue, and the sun was going to rise soon. He should go get some rest and have his mind clear for tomorrow. There was a lot of work ahead of him, not only with stopping Montclair, but also dealing with the Worm Cult threat. Based on Dio’s notes, he and Emeric deduced the two possible locations of future Dolmens: the shores to the north and the mountains to Rivenspire’s south border. Question was, when would the Cult regroup to try carry out Bal’s will again?

Knocking on the side of one of the massive bookshelves snapped him from his thoughts. Gwendis stood painfully straight, with her hands behind her back and a serious look on her face. Accompanying her was a confused-looking woman in battered, gore-drenched armor. Wait, he knew that woman, it was Captain Janeve. But her ghastly parlor and red eyes gave away she was no longer the same person. 

“The damned lizard is dead.” Gwendis broke silence. “But he managed to turn the Captain before the Dunmer tore his hear out. The Countess wanted her dead, but she’s not a mindless Bloodfiend, so I couldn’t let that happen. I let her satisfy her first hunger on my flask, but she could use a place to stay. We have a few spare rooms downstairs, so I thought…” She broke off her sentence, nudging Janeve to take over.

“Count Ravenwatch. You look good, too bad I cannot say the same about myself.” Janeve greeted, keeping her tone poised, despite looking like she was dragged through a slaughterhouse, then rolled in the dirt.

“How are you feeling, Captain?” He asked, approaching the two women, careful as not to make any sudden moves.

“Cold, oddly numb, and still pretty shaken up. Is that normal?”

“Yes, that’s perfectly natural, as you are still adapting to your new nature. My apologies for what you just went through, our gift should never be forced upon anyone. I’m sure you have plenty of questions, which I will be happy to answer tomorrow, after you’ve gotten some rest and gathered your bearings. For now, Castle Ravenwatch is open for you. Gwendis will take you to the cellars, so you can groom yourself before rest.” 

“Dear Count, you remain as regal and verbose as I remembered.” Janeve let out a weak snicker, to the Count’s relief. “But thank you for your hospitality, I will make sure to repay you in whatever way I can, you have my word.”

She saluted, then the two women turned to leave the library and get ready to retire before dawn approached.

“Gwendis?” The Count’s soft voice calling from behind caused his daughter to stop in her tracks.

“Yea?” She asked, peeking over her shoulder to find him leaning casually against the bookshelf with arms crossed and warm spark in his tired eyes. 

“I’m proud of you.”

\---

Dio flew into his crumbling sanctuary, glad the deal with the Argonian and the Countess was over with. Tiredly, he took off his fatigued coat, tossing it onto one of the ancient sarcophaguses he used as a table. He fell into a blanket-covered pile of hay, struggling to remove his dirty boots. What was the next step? That depended on when the Cult decides to open another portal to Coldharbour, and when Verandis finally narrows down the location of the Ayleid ruin. In the meantime he should… do what, exactly?

Free of any restrictive clothing, he laid flat on his back, sinking into the prickly straws of his makeshift bedding. He should definitely allow himself a moment to rest and gather his bearings. But he couldn’t, his thoughts kept buzzing in his head like fetcherflies, annoying and impossible to ignore. And he couldn’t either set them aside, or tackle any of them. Only let them pile up and fester. 

“Some agent of retribution Lamae chose for herself.” He let out a low grunt, rubbing his face. 

A low whimper was heard from the dark corner of the abandoned mausoleum, reminding him that he had arranged refreshments for himself before heading to Camp Tamirth. Smirking, he rose slowly crossing the chamber. His vision adjusted to the gloom, making out the contours of a bound, covering wretch – a bandit who strayed too far from his mates when out for a piss.

Gently, he stroked the dirty Breton man’s cheek, pushing his ratty hair aside. The mortal bucked and let out an incoherent cry, being able to see only the faint glow of the vampire’s hungry eyes. He smelled terrible – like sweat, fear and urine, but Dio had no patience to bathe him. And he was too hungry to be picky.

“P-please!” The mortal managed to whimper, struggling against his restraints, but Dio knew how to bind his prey efficiently, whilst refraining from impairing their bloodflow. “I’m not a criminal, I just joined them to get away from the farm! I-I had no idea they were bandits, honest!”

“That’s not my problem.” The Dunmer replied indifferently, deciding to roll the mortal onto his stomach and sit on top of him. “But if it’s of any comfort, I’ll make it quick and painless.”

Twisting his fingers into the Breton’s outgrown, dirty hair, he twisted his head to the side, exposing the neck. The mortal let out a pained moan the second his fangs broke the skin, then went limp, sobbing between Dio’s feral grunts.

Once the mortal was completely drained, he got off of him, stretching and letting out a satisfied groan. The smell was terrible, but the quality of the mortal’s blood made up for it. It was some time since he had a good old-fashioned young farmer, he should feed rustic more often.

Dios sleep that night would most likely be less uneasy due to the satisfying meal, if it weren’t for a specter suddenly materializing in his lair.

“Vestige.” The apparition greeted.

“Prophet.” He replied, crossing his arms, glad that the man was blind. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of. 

“It is time to reclaim the Amulet of Kings. Come, find me and the rest of the Five Companions in the Harborage. But be wary, Mannimarco is bound to know our plans and will no doubt reveal himself soon.”

A mad gleam lit up the vampire’s eyes as his upper lip curled up involuntarily to reveal his bloodied fangs.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”


	10. Chapter 10

Fennorian had the most intriguing handwriting – elegant and precise, yet maintaining balance between simplicity and style. Exactly what one would expect of an Altmer scholar. Receiving a letter from the promising young Mer was exactly what Verandis needed to ease his troubled mind. He allowed himself the pleasure of slinking into his study and reading it without any disturbances before having to turn to his less than enjoyable obligations for the night. 

_“… My studies continue, and I am close to fully understanding the subtle intricacies of alchemy…”_ He read unhurriedly, taking in every word, glad he heeded the impulse to send Fennorian away shortly before the tragedy with House Montclair began.

 _“… I miss our House greatly, yet remain grateful for your efforts to facilitate my education.”_ Here, the curve of the line betrayed the young scholar hesitated for a moment, before going through with his thought. _“I want to make you proud, father.”_

Verandis folded the letter and slid it back to the envelope. Leaning back in his chair he exhaled a sigh of relief, glad that at least one person close to him was spared horror and grief. He should write back to Fennorian as soon as he is able, but he had his priorities. Leaving the letter on the end table, he got up from his favorite chair, preparing for another night of tedious research and translation. But not before speaking to Janeve and giving her an introduction to her new condition. 

Just as he was about to leave the room, he bumped into ever faithful Kallin standing attentively in the doorway. 

“My Lord.” The Dunmer servant bowed, yet his expression betrayed a sense of urgency. “I have a messenger with me.”

The Count’s brows rose, watching Kallin carefully outstretch his arm, presenting a small black bat hanging from the cuff of his sleeve with a curious red gem fastened to its back by a tiny leather harness. Intrigued, he relieved Kallin of the little messenger and closed the door with a dismissive nod. 

The bat let out a tiny squeak, staring at him with its beady black eyes, but showed no signs of aggression or fear. Rather, it waited with some intent. Carefully, Verandis unstrapped the harness and extracted the gem, examining it under the light, whilst the tiny critter was left to rest on the end table.

“Curious.” He said out loud, realizing the gem was crystalized blood. And if blood was preserved in a way that imitated some sort of precious material, then Dio was definitely involved.

The bloody gem felt warm and oddly… throbbed under his fingertips. On a hunch, the Count squeezed harder, shattering it and letting out from within a faint cloud of red mist.

“I need to leave Rivenspire immediately.” Dio’s voice spoke through the mist. “My… associates turned in a lead that will get me one step closer to thwarting Bal’s plans, getting my soul back, and finding Mannimarco, I can feel it! I’ll return as soon as I am able. Do me a favor and feed the bat a drop or two before releasing it.”

With that the mist dispersed, leaving Verandis and the happily squeaking bat.

“Don’t get yourself killed, you mad fool.” The Count sighed heavily, picking the furry creature up. The bat let out an excited squeak, watching him pierce the tip of his pinkie with his fang. “Come on, little one. Drink up.”

Patiently, he let the tiny tongue lap away at his blood, before opening the window and letting the sated critter fly out into the night. 

\---

Dio had his hands full with his efforts to stop Bal, so that left the defense of Rivenspire form the Worm Cult in his hands. Gwendis was sent to watch the northern Dolmen, whilst Janeve took over monitoring the southern one. Glad to have eyes on the Worm Cult’s activities, Verandis got to work in his vast library, surrounding himself with floating tomes.

Ancient Ayleid was a difficult language to translate. Of all ancient elven languages, it was the most open for interpretation with how metaphor-heavy it was. More than once Verandis was positive he narrowed the location down, only to find that after consulting his translation with a map, it led absolutely nowhere. Despite his growing frustration and headache, he continued his efforts, until he was completely obstructed by a wall of magically suspended books.

He needed to focus on his work, yet his mind drifted away, recounting their recent steps. They made significant progress, repelling Montclair’s efforts to take over Shornhelm, eliminating Reezal-Jul and the first Dolmen. But Lleraya and Wylon were still a threat to the realm, just like the two other sites where the Worm Cult could carry out their blasphemous rituals. Dio couldn’t leave in the worst possible moment.

“Are you alright?” Adusa-daro called out from behind the floating wall of books. “Should this one get help before you completely wall yourself in?”

“I’m afraid there’s no one who can help me now.” Verandis gave her a tired smile, making a dent in the mass of books to reveal his tired face. 

“This one heard our family has grown. The little one did good.” Adusa noted, swishing her tail and nodding with approval. “But that’s not what Adusa needs to tell you. Another Montclair spy thought they were smart and tried to enter the castle through the wine cellar.”

“And?”

“The spiders took care of them.” She revealed, crinkling her nose. “Still, the Baron remains persistent. Perhaps the news of the twisted lizard’s death already reached him? Regardless, this one found orders on the wretch, she will not bother you with details, but each member of the House is to be assassinated, you with ‘extreme prejudice’. Montclair even included the Dunmer dandy.”

“Wait, every member of our house?!” Verandis felt his heart grow cold. Fennorian!

“Yes, this one is aware the young blood is possibly in danger. She is ready to leave immediately, she just needs your order.”

With a wave of his hand Verandis sent all his books flying back to their respective shelves, approaching the woman with urgency.

“Adusa,” ignoring the sounds of rustling pages he put his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her clever eyes, “I need you to promise me you will have a close eye on Fennorian, but will not reveal yourself to him. I do not want to get him involved in this whole mess.”

The usually confident Khajiit’s ears perked up. She had a quip ready, but held her tongue, understanding the gravity of her task. “The young one will remain safe and unaware, you have this one’s word.” She swore.

“I’m counting on you.”

\---

He found the rest of the Five Companions bickering, whilst the Prophet tried to maintain order. Typical. Shaking off the dust from his long journey, Dio stepped into the small ring of light where the group was gathered around a small table littered with old maps, books, and arcane paraphernalia.

“Vestige!” The blind man spoke without turning his head to face him. “You have arrived and we can start.”

The vampire took his place at the Prophet’s side, glancing at the remaining three. Lyris Titanborn was standing tall and imposing, ready to bust heads. To her right was Sai Sahan, stroking his impressive beard, deep in thought. On the opposite end of the table was Abnur Tharn, preoccupied with inspecting his beautifully crafted staff. Tension in the underground hideout was tangible. 

“Before we head out, I want to make one thing abundantly clear.” He spoke slowly, taking a moment to look each member of the group in the eye. “Mannimarco is bound to show up the moment we get close to the Amulet. And when that happens, he’s mine. Each of you have your own reasons to wring his neck, but I’m the one who’s going to personally tear his throat open. And I’m not going to debate this.”

“Bold claim.” Tharn stroked his chin.

“He murdered me.” The vampire reminded, with an involuntarily clench in his jaw. “He’s the reason my soul is floating somewhere in Coldhardbour. Since coming back to Nirn, I’ve been stuck doing favors and getting myself involved in other people’s business. Killing him personally is the one thing I want to do for myself. I need this.” 

The three shared looks.

“If you must. Just don’t get any of Mannimarco’s guts on me.” Tharn shrugged nonchalantly.

“Fine. I’d love to crush the damned necromancer’s skull myself, but if it will make you feel better, then go for it.” Lyris nodded, and for a second Dio could have sworn there was a flash of pity on her face. He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on Sai.

“If that is what you wish. But I must warn you friend, revenge is an alluring poison. Be careful.” The master swordsman spoke cautiously.

“I’m glad we have an understanding.” Dio shrugged, turning to the Prophet. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“Once again the Five Companions must retrieve the Amulet of Kings. Only this time, to save all of Tamriel from my hubris.” The man revealed, waving magic to create a shimmering blue portal before the four of them. 

“Where are you sending us this time?” The vampire’s brow rose.

“Sancre Tor.” Sai Sahan said in place of the Prophet, approaching the portal with Lyris. “I hid the Amulet there.”

“Yes, great thinking Sai.” Tharn snarked, motioning towards the shimmering blue light. “Because a crumbling ancient city with centuries old bones is just-”

Before he could finish whatever mockery he had prepared, he was forcefully shoved into the portal by Lyris, disappearing into the light with a surprised yelp.

“Let’s just make it quick. Go in, take the Amulet, and maybe have a chance to show a flea-bitten necromancer what his own innards look like. What do you think?” She asked, retrieving her massive axe from behind her back.

“Sounds like a dream come true.” Dio grinned, presenting his fangs to her and Sai.

\---

The candles in the chandelier were close to burning out, casting long coils of melted wax. Dawn was approaching soon, and just as the first rays of sunlight shone over Rivenspire, Verandis made a breakthrough.

Like with all major discoveries, he stumbled upon this one almost by accident. On a hunch, he took some historical military documents and trading manifests in Ayleid and compared them to records of trade routes going through Rivenspire. The movement of troops and goods followed two distinctive paths that crossed in one spot. Lorkatha Hills. 

He marked the spot on the map with both triumph and relief. One more piece of the puzzle was in place and he was one step closer to making things right. If he could, he would march there right now, but he couldn’t risk leaving the castle unguarded, now that Adusa was away.

He stretched, realizing the scent of old pages and leather bindings seeped into his clothing and hair. Thankfully, he didn’t wear his best robes. He whipped his hair back, relieved he didn’t have to spend his nights with his nose buried in musty old tomes anymore. His wards should be back to the castle by now. Bearing good news, he hoped.

“Nothing!” Gwendis reported, materializing a few paces away, annoyed and wet. “No one’s came to the damned ritual site. Just seagulls and rain all day!!”

A second later Captain Janeve appeared in a cloud of dark smoke and bats, albeit with some awkwardness.

“My! I didn’t know how fun this is!” She exclaimed with a chuckle, then straightened herself up and saluted out of pure habit. “Count Ravenwatch, I report that there is indeed activity in the site to the south! I saw two hooded figures pacing around the Dolmen, as you called it, but they retreated shortly before dawn. My guess is they will return after sunset.”

“Good work, Captain.” Verandis nodded, knowing what will he be keeping himself occupied with the next night. Fending off Daedra. “Before we all retire for the day, please send a messenger to the High King and ask for his select his Lion Guard to be ready.”

\---

Just like with Eyebright Feld, the Worm Cult chose the site for their second Dolmen in a secluded place, surrounded by towering crags and with only one means of escape; through a narrow opening between the crags. It seemed they were as zealous in their efforts as they were clueless. As the sun set over the horizon, the nearby barren rocky hills were crowded with both the uniform Lion Guard and colorful packs of adventurers. But Verandis was only interested in finding one particular head of luscious black hair and a cocky smile. 

“We have to stop meeting like this, dear Count!” Darien Gautier greeted, emerging from a tight formation of his men, bright and chipper despite suffering a serious wound just recently, all thanks to Emeric’s personal healers. “Alone tonight, I see?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Our Dunmer friend is… unavailable at the moment.” The vampire sighed, catching a glimpse of Skordo with the corner of his eye. Though not affiliated with Emeric’s elite forces, the Orc seemed to never miss out on a fight with Daedra. 

“Well, I’m glad to have you with us. Let’s just hope that-”

Whatever Darien was hoping for was drowned out by deafening horns blaring from the sky, followed by the Dark Anchor descending from the churning clouds and heavy chains securing themselves onto the surface of Nirn. The ritual had begun. 

“Attack!” The man ordered, drawing his blade.

The Lion Guard and adventurers joined in a battle cry, rushing to face the Cult and Molag Bal’s dardric minions. Verandis faded into a dark cloud, reemerging just before the steps of the Dolmen. The cultist he appeared right next to stared at him wide-eyed, not sure if the vampire was summoned from the portal above, or was he an intruder. He didn’t wander for long though, as the Count unceremoniously reached for his neck and pulled sharply, ending the wretch’s life on the spot. No pain, but still no mercy.

He then turned around to assess the rest of the group, but before he could dispose of them, a wave of Daedra fell from the sky in flashes of blue flames. Just in time for the Lion Guard and the mismatched group of adventures to arrive, surrounding the ritual site in a tight ring of readied weapons and spells.

“Let’s get to it, then.” The Count quietly said, flicking his wrist and bending his fingers, drawing forth a wave of spiraling frost.

He didn’t bother with counting how many cultists and Daedra got caught in his spell, instinctively sidestepping an attack from an incoming Dremora. His staff blocked the blow, somewhere beyond his vision he heard the characteristic sounds of frozen flesh being pummeled. His eyes met with the Daedra attacker’s, both red and unblinking. And suddenly he vanished, reappearing behind the Dremora with both palms on the side of its head. Despite the helmet and unnatural resilience, the Daedra’s head was crushed in a split-second, and the body fell to the ground lifelessly, disappearing in flashes of blue fire.

Methodically, Verandis continued to dispatch the Daedra, stopping only when he could aid the defenders with his magic. With the smell of both mortal and daedric blood lingering around him like a tantalizing cloud, he wreaked havoc on the battlefield, sending the invading creatures back to Oblivion with cold precision. He did so for a greater cause, but a small, primal part of him felt good and yearned for more carnage. 

After what seemed like hours, he realized the Dolmen was quiet and still. He looked around in search of more foes, finding only equally confused defenders. This couldn’t have been the end of it, Bal would not allow for such an easy victory. What was the Prince of Schemes planning?

 _“What a shame the Dunmer wretch is not here to do his little song and dance. Has he finally given up and ran back to Lamae?”_ Molag Bal spoke through the portal, chilling the hearts of the mortals below. _“Pity he won’t be here to witness the surprise I have in store for you, Good Count…”_

The portal stirred, spitting out a ball of pitch-black darkness. The ground shook from impact and in smoke and blue flames a man in black armor and crown appeared, chilling the heart of Verandis. 

“Styriche…” He whispered, recognizing the noble, yet cruel face of the ancient vampire Molag Bal had sent forth.

Hearing his own name, the undead locked eyes with the Count. They widened, as a spark of recognition formed behind them. His massive sword was in his hands the next second and he readied himself to strike.

“Verandis…!” He hissed, ignoring everyone else, raising his weapon to point straight at the undead Altmer chest. “I will drink from your skull and turn everything you love into ash!”

He dashed forward with unconceivable speed. So did Verandis. They clashed, tearing into each other with ferocity and hatred only vampires could be capable of. The sword bit into the Count’s side, marking the ground with splashes of dark red. Verandis hissed in pain, but managed to plunge his staff into the weak spot of Styriche’s armor, stabbing him just under the armpit, deep enough for the weapon’s tip to scrape his spine. Withstanding the vampire king’s death glare, he twisted the staff, ripping from the other undead a pained shriek. 

Styriche’s arm shot forward, throwing Verandis several meters back, before he hit the central point of the ritual site, drawing deep cracks in the stone structure. The undead king dropped his weapon, reaching for the staff impaling him. His bloodshot eyes stared back at unmoving Verandis with pure hatred, as he pulled the weapon out with a squelch. 

He grinned morbidly, and all of his teeth were sharp, ivory fangs. Effortlessly, he snapped the staff in half with one hand, tossing it into the crowd. He then roared and began… growing with the chilling sound of stretching muscles and bone. His head swelled and darkened, his crown slipped from his head, making room for long, twisted horns. His face took on an uncanny shape, which could never be mistaken for any mortal race.

“Oblivion take you!” Verandis yelled, getting up on uncertain feet. He knew neither magic nor simple slashes with claws and fangs could end the mad vampire king. No, to defeat Styriche, he had to follow suit and take on the same monstrous form. 

“It already has! And I will see to it personally that you join me there, weakling!” Styriche yelled back, spreading his arms and legs wide, letting pieces of his black armor burst under his bulging form and fall off of him, revealing his thick grey hide.

Shaking off bits of chipped rock, Verandis focused, drawing deep from within his core the power he wowed to never abuse. That dark, destructive power that allowed his kind unimaginable gifts at the risk of losing themselves to its vile allure. He faded away into black, opaque smoke, reemerging moments later as a massive, grey creature of alien, frightening elegance. 

The mortals surrounding the two creatures instinctively retreated, yet have not fled for their lives, equally horrified and entranced. 

“Arkay preserve us…” Darien whispered horrified, signaling his men to stand back. He heard rumors that old vampires could assume terrifying and equally powerful forms, physical manifestations of their damned condition, but he never thought he would have a chance to actually see one. And Gods as his witness, this was not something he ever wanted to see with his own two eyes.

Styriche let out a chilling roar, rising above the ground. The shadow of Verandis’ leathery wings obstructed the moons, as he hovered over the ritual site unmoving, waiting for the other vampire to strike first. And strike he did, vanishing into a blur, upon Verandis in the blink of an eye. The Count’s high-pitched shriek echoed throughout the surrounding crags, blood gushed from the side of his alien face where Styriche’s talons tore off a sizable chunk of flesh. 

Aggravated, Verandis slashed, tearing off the undead king’s wing, ripping from him an equally deafening roar and a fountain of gushing red. Taking their fight to the ground, they entangled in a dance of talons and fangs, ripping into each other, marking their surroundings in pools of dark, slick blood. Overestimating his speed, Verandis risked to aim his claws for Styriche’s chest, but he realized too late that the other vampire’s open jaws we’re aiming for his neck. He jerked his head back, but it was too late and Styriche’s teeth sunk into his shoulder. He thrashed franticly, flapping his wings, but Styriche’s hold on him was too strong, there was no chance of shaking him off.

Instead, he shoved both clawed thumbs into the bulkier monster’s eyes, two knuckles deep. Styriche pulled away his bloodied mouth to scream, but before he could make a sound, Verandis twisted his head back, sinking his own teeth into his neck, ripping his throat open. Styriche staggered back, blind and able to merely gurgle and grunt, bleeding profusely. 

Seizing opportunity, Verandis dashed forward, tackling him to the ground. His bloody hand rose and fell, plunging into Styriche’s chest elbow-deep. The vampire king’s face twisted into a hateful mask as he reached to blindly hack and claw at Verandis, but his moves were as chaotic as they were sluggish, only cutting the other vampire shallowly. Verandis sharply pulled his hand out of Styriche’s chest, clutching in his hand the other vampire’s still heart. 

Styriche froze mid-attack, and just like in the legends, he instantly turned to dust, obstructing Verandis in a choking ashen cloud. Letting out a low, victorious roar from the back of his throat, Verandis stared down at the crumbling heart in his grasp. His sense of smell, even keener in this form, picked up the smell of blood and fear. Involuntarily, he gnashed his teeth, craning his head to assess the surrounding mortals. He could smell them all with such intoxicating intensity, every individual heart pounding with adrenaline, just ripe for the picking…

No! This wasn’t him. He had to control himself, before it is too late! 

His fists pounded against the rune-etched stone, breaking it like delicate porcelain. He threw his head back, howling, screeching at the indifferent moons, before falling unconscious on his face. The ritual site was quiet and still, as the mortals observed the monster shrink and retract back into the tall and slim Count Ravenwatch. Yet, no one dared approach after what they just witnessed.

No one, but the brave Darien Gautier, who dashed towards the characteristic spiraling cage that emerged at the top of the Dolmen after Molag Bal’s champion’s demise. Ignoring the collective gasp of his comrades and adventurers, he jumped over the still Count, reaching the top of the Dolmen steps in just a few quick leaps. As he approached, the cage separated into individual segments, revealing the glowing orb within. Preparing for pain, Darien seized it in both hands and crushed into sharp bits, yelling in pain as he felt shock and overwhelming coldness resonate throughout his entire body. 

With sweat beading on his noble forehead, he looked up at the stirring portal above. With relief, he saw that the Anchor began spinning, taking off further and further away from Nirn. Spinning so fast that it was only a dark blur, it then exploded with a deafening boom, breaking off into hundreds, if not thousands of pieces of metal known only to Coldharbour.

One of said pieces hit the Count’s head, snapping him out of his lethargic stupor. Slowly, he rose on his elbow, surveying his surroundings. Styriche’s ashes were below and all over him and there was no metal ring hovering above them, which meant they won.

He shook his head, realizing he was still missing a sizable chunk of his cheek and neck. But that didn’t bother him as much as the grim clarity of what he did… and what he had almost done if he hadn’t managed to control himself. He almost gave into his nature and would have slaughtered all these good people, gorging himself on their blood. 

Almost.

“Count?” Darien asked, cautiously approaching him from the side, having enough brains to halt several long paces away from him. “Are you… alright?”

Turning his head away, Verandis pressed his palm to the gaping hole on the side of his face. He focused his blood to mend the flesh, and after a moment he took back his hand, revealing the freshly mended skin. 

“I am fine.” He quietly said, cautiously standing up, causing the mortals around him to instinctively step back. 

Like they’ve just seen a monster.

They all smelled of fear, Darien included, and he couldn’t blame them. It was a natural, primal reaction all mortals had when exposed to the sight of raw, destructive vampiric power. It was centuries since Verandis took on that form, and even more since he did so in front of unsuspecting mortals. The shame and guilt for doing so burned as deep as it did in the past. 

Avoiding looking anyone in the eye, he disturbed Styriche’s smoldering ashes with the tip of his boot, then burst into bats and smoke, leaving the scene in disgrace.

\---

Sancre Tor hasn’t seen such a battle in centuries. Four brave challengers against the greatest necromancer Tamriel had ever known and his undead minions. The heroes met with overwhelming enemy forces, overcoming their numbers and proceeding through the ruins of the ancient city, until it was time to face off against the necromancer himself. And when that time came, one man stepped forward and gave into his fury, unleashing lightning upon the man who robbed him of his soul, pride, and dignity. 

The King of Worms staggered back, meeting with a wall, bleeding profusely from a wound on the side of his neck, where claws and fangs tore into his armor and flesh. Grunting and promising swift retribution, he pressed his palm to his bleeding neck, but his remaining Magica was insufficient to heal him. 

Dio approached, savoring every second of the confrontation, just like he savored Mannimarco’s blood trickling down from his chin. It tasted divine, like revenge and pride restored.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been craving this moment.” He seethed through bloody teeth, glaring maliciously at his prey. “It feels even better than what I’ve imagined.” 

In a blink of an eye he was upon the necromancer. Mannimarco braced himself for an attack but none came. Instead, the vampire’s glowing palm flashed before his face and Mannimarco’s brows crossed above his cold eyes, trying to understand what spell Dio had put upon him.

“I’m going to keep you for long after you are dead.” Dio promised sweetly, slinging his arm around Mannimarco’s waist, forcefully shoving the bleeding out Mer onto his knees. 

The King of Worms grunted, observing through blurry eyes tiny rivulets of blood falling to the ancient stone floor. “This can’t end like this! I was supposed to ascend to godhood!” He yelled, looking up at the grinning vampire.

Dio scoffed, kicking Mannimarco in the ribs. Grunting in pain, the necromancer rolled to his back, immediately straddled by the vampire. 

“It’s over, Mannimarco. I won.” Dio whispered, cradling the back of the Altmer’s head, pulling him to a sitting position. He gave the man a smile that seemed almost… tender. 

“Fool!” The King of Worms laughed hysterically. “Do you really think death can stop the most powerful necromancer in Tamriel’s history?! Go ahead, gorge yourself on me, you’ll be doing me a favor! Your foolish cantrips do not scare me!”

Anger flashed through the Dunmer’s pale face as he sharply yanked Mannimarco’s head to the side, knocking his crown off. Fangs shone in the dim light, eyes burned hungrily. The Altmer cried in pain, feeling the vampire’s teeth pierce his neck from the other side. Grunting obscenely, Dio drank greedily, until he was sucking on a dry, dead artery. 

Drunk on Mannimarco’s blood, he released the lifeless body, slowly getting up to look down at his handiwork. It was done, Mannimarco was dead by his hand. But that was only the first step. From under his coat he retrieved a small item instrumental in carrying out the rest of his plan. 

A wisp lifted from the corpse, forming into the ghostly shape of Mannimarco hovering over his own dead body. The necromancer stared down at his own face, scrunched into a mask of anger and pain. He then laughed, rising his arms over his head.

“This is merely a transition! My first step towards true immortality” He swore, as he took off, ascending.

But suddenly, there was a tug. Confused, Mannimarco looked down, finding a thin, shimmering line connecting him to a small bauble Dio was holding. A black soul gem. And then it dawned upon him what spell the Dunmer had put on him. 

Soultrap.

“I told you you’re mine!” This time Dio laughed like a madman, reeling in the thrashing and cursing ghost. 

Surely, he would imprison Mannimarco’s soul in the black gem if it weren’t for a portal of churning blue flames and smoke appearing above them. A monstrously large hand – gnarled and clawed, emerged from the portal, seizing Mannimarco like a child grabs a plaything. 

_“Worm! You think you can betray the Lord of Brutality and Domination without consequence?”_ Molag Bal’s chilling voice echoed throughout the ruins Sancre Tor. _“You will pay for your arrogance! You will writhe in agony for the rest of eternity! Your tortured screams will echo throughout Oblivion to serve as a warning to others!”_

The hand slowly withdrew into the portal with its writhing, screaming prey. Dio cursed, both arms tugging at the line connecting the soul gem with Mannmarco, but he might as well be trying to stop an avalanche. The line stretched thin, then snapped sending him falling back on his arse. He scrambled back onto his feet to see the portal fade away, leaving behind only the mocking laughter of the Lord of Brutality.

“DAMN IT ALL!!” He yelled, smashing the now useless gem against the floor. “THIS ISN’T OVER! I’LL FIND YOU MANNIMARCO! EVEN IF I’LL HAVE TO SCOUR THE DARKEST PITS OF OBLIVION!!”

Feeling dizzy, he fell to his knees, staring unblinkingly at the cracked ceiling of the grand chamber. He swallowed the last drops of Mannimarco’s blood caught under his tongue, but the flavor brought little comfort. He didn’t get his revenge. This one thing he wanted for himself was taken away from him. Like so many other things.

Hearing footsteps from behind, he looked over his shoulder and hissed instinctively. His three companions halted, all prepared to subdue him with weapons, fists or magic. He didn’t blame them, he must have looked like a true monster – eyes wild with anger and chin smeared with fresh blood.

“Are you planning on moping, or are you coming with us to retrieve the amulet?” Tharn scoffed, yet had fire readied in his clenched fist. 

Lyris instantly elbowed the Imperial in the ribs, but she too was prepared for the vampire to lash out, gripping her axe tight. 

“Wayfarer…,” Sai spoke quietly, his blade lowered… for now, “… Molag Bal has many tools at his disposal. One of them is discord. If you let him make you lose sight at what’s truly at stake, then all is lost.”

The three remained at a safe distance, waiting for the Dunmer’s reaction. After a longer pause, Dio stood up, straightening his bloodied coat. Letting out an annoyed grunt, he wiped his chin with his cuff. He then nodded and proceeded to the next chamber without looking at any of the three mortals. All he wanted was to find the damned amulet and have it over with.

\---

Bloody and dirty, with his hair entangled and crusted with dry blood, Verandis reached the front steps of his castle shortly before dawn. Dreaming of shedding his ragged robes and washing Styriche off, he reached to push the massive doors open, realizing his hands were still trembling. His clenched fists rested on the reinforced wood, whilst he pressed his forehead against the timeworn surface.

He kept telling himself that he regained control just in time and no mortals suffered at his hand. But seeing Styriche, a man from his distant and equally dark past, shook him to the core. He wondered, why did Bal choose to send undead king to fight him, instead of…

He shut his eyes tight, hammering his head against the wood. Enough! This was no time to dwell on his past mistakes! He had to fix the one happening in the present! To Oblivion with Styriche and the Gray Host, there was Montclair to deal with!

It dawned upon him how lucky he was that neither Dio nor anyone from his House was present to witness the fight. If they were, then they would start asking some dangerous questions, the likes Verandis dreaded having to answer. He hoped the remaining witnesses had not understood what Styriche spurted out in anger without proper context. And he had suspicions that ser Gautier, Skordo and the Lion Guard would have enough common sense not to spread rumors about a man whom the High King trusted.

So, his secret should be safe. Still, that didn’t help with having mortals see him in his most undignified, feral form. He knew he always made mortals who knew his true nature uneasy, and he never blamed them. But it was so long, since he terrorized a large group of people. 

He could really use that bath.

The heavy doors slammed behind him with a loud thud. Although caked in gore, he could clearly smell fresh blood in the upstairs hallway. Alarmed, he climbed the stairs, letting his sense of smell guide him. He knew that smell and could almost taste the accompanying flavor of his tongue, the flavor of blood being offered to him willingly and knowingly over so many years.

He turned the corner and froze, finding Gwendis sobbing and holding Kallin in her arms. Below the two a red pool just kept growing and growing and Verandis needn’t ask why, seeing a silver stake lodged in Dunmer’s unmoving chest. A few paces down the hall was a second body; the face was mauled beyond recognition, but the corpse was wearing the colors of house Montclair.

“I’m sorry Verandis.” Gwendis spoke, lifting her teary eyes to look at him. “I hadn’t even noticed when he crept upon me! Kallin, h-he got between us… I wasn’t fast enough! He didn’t even make a sound, he just dropped… I-I don’t remember what happened next. I came to my senses standing over that damned assassin’s body. I wanted to help Kallin, but I was too late!”

She fell silent, breaking into tears. The Count sat at her side, pulling his arm around her shoulders. Gwendis instinctively buried her face in his chest, trembling and crying like a child.

“I promise you, that there will be no more death in this House.” He quietly swore, reaching to close Kallin’s glassy eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

They found the Amulet of Kings hidden under a pile of rubble deeper into the ruins of Sancre Tor. For a moment the group just stood motionless, silently staring at the artifact in the Dunmer’s palm. The amulet itself was underwhelming, to Dio at least. It was big, clunky and speaking plainly quite tacky. It was hard to believe something this ugly was a gift from Akatosh to mortals. Aesthetics aside, it was instrumental in their efforts to defeat Bal and stopping the Planemeld. 

“I hope this time we can use it without endangering the entire world.” Tharn scoffed.

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Sai shook his head, wary of any sign of impending violence coming from Lyris. But the half-giant was preoccupied watching the still Dunmer.

“Hey.” She gently nudged the much shorter mer, snapping him out of whatever unhappy thoughts he was dwelling upon. “Portal’s here, time to go.”

One by one, the companions stepped through the magic portal the Prophet so graciously conjured and arrived back at the Harborage. The events that followed Dio remembered faintly. He recalled shoving the amulet into someone’s palm and leaving without a word, but he did not remember who he entrusted the artifact with. 

For the first time since his awakening he was grateful for the bandits plaguing the roads, as they provided some necessary nourishment and stress-relief. However, wreaking havoc amongst highwaymen provided him only temporary pleasure, immediately followed by the realization of how low he allowed himself to sink.

“Gorging myself on lowlifes. Pathetic.” He sighed, staring down at his grimy hands. 

Putting blood and dirt aside, he could clearly see his paper-thin skin was almost white and marred with dark red veins. He needn’t a mirror to guess how his face looked. He could clearly picture himself afflicted by the most severe stage of vampiric corruption – his face gaunt and features twisted, with eyes burning red and nearly white irises. He almost pitied the next group of outlaws unfortunate enough to cross paths with him. Almost.

His trip back to Rivenspire took two bloody nights and he arrived at his lair shortly before dawn. Ignoring the reeking corpse in the corner, he tore off his gore-seeped outfit and fell into uneasy sleep. The next night he put on his last set of clean clothes and left the mausoleum in a hurry, dragging the corpse by the leg. Outside, he left the unfortunate young bandit to be picked clean by scavengers. Passively observing skeevers sniffing around the corpse, he stretched, gathering his remaining shreds of composure to fly to Ravenwatch castle and speak to Verandis.

“Ashes, please no more complications.” He pleaded, staring blankly at the dark sky before fading into a cloud of bats. 

The atmosphere in the castle was heavy and grim, like that of a house in mourning. He didn’t ask why. The usually feisty Bosmer stared him down vacantly before leading to the back of the property where he found the Count deep in thought sitting on a lone bench overlooking a shallow pond. She left them alone without uttering a word. 

“You reek of blood.” Verandis greeted, turning his head slightly to address the disheveled Dunmer, making no note of his corruption. “And you have some on your cheek. Were you successful?”

“Yes. Now tell me you have good news.” Dio demanded, wiping the crusted blood off with his sleeve, then crossing his arms. He considered a thorough wash, but time was a luxury for a man in his position. Anyone taken aback by his ghastly appearance just had to deal with it. 

“I do. I took care of the second Dolmen and uncovered the location of the Ayleid outpost. I’m ready to head out whenever you are.”

“Perfect. Just point me there and I’ll meet you at the site.”

“It’s best we travel together.” Verandis insisted tiredly, getting up.

“I don’t want to-”

“Please!” He protested sharper than he intended. Looking away, he took a moment to regain his composure before addressing the Dunmer once more. “Please… The last few nights have been hard for me and my House and I don’t have the energy to argue with you. We need to do this together, so don’t make it more difficult for the both of us.”

There was something about the look on his face. He looked miserable, like he barely slept for several nights, suffering under some new misfortune. But what else was new? Dio rolled his eyes, but grunted and nodded nonetheless. 

\---

They arrived just a stone’s throw away from a crumbling ruin. Judging by the distant torchlights and small bonfires it seemed the Baron anticipated their arrival and had his forces stationed, ready to defend the place from any intruders. 

“It looks more Breton than Ayleid. Just saying.” Dio pointed out, eyes following a distant mortal patrolling the stretch of the external wall. 

“It’s not uncommon to build on top of existing structures, the Ayleid ruin must be below. Now… I know we will find something very important there, but I don’t know what. Reezal-Jul’s notes mentioned some recorded source of knowledge, but they weren’t specific. But whatever this item is, it is crucial enough to have him wipe this location from my memories. And for Montclair to leave the place under guard.”

Dio grinned, exposing his outgrown upper and lower incisors. “Speaking of which, I can never say no to some entertainment, courtesy of the good Baron.”

“They’re mortal. Don’t.” Verandis warned without raising his voice. “No one needs to die tonight.”

“They wouldn’t think twice about storming your castle and murdering your servants and children, but you want to show them mercy?” The Dunmer scoffed, but shut his mouth at the hollow look Verandis gave him. 

“They already did. We’ve lost my manservant Kallin to one of Montclair’s assassins a few nights ago. If it weren’t for his sacrifice, it would have been Gwendis. Still, I don’t wish any mortals harm, even if they made the mistake of swearing their loyalty to Montclair.” He quietly said. 

“Montclair struck at one of your own, yet you do not want to make even? Why?” 

“I tire of bloodshed.”

Violence upon the living was the last thing he wanted after the recent events. First, he nearly lost himself at the Dolmen and almost attacked innocent people, then he lost his loyal manservant. Since Kallin had no family of his own, they opted for a quiet cremation and wake, laying the loyal Dunmer’s ashes to rest in the castle undercroft. Gwendis had no more tears to cry during the ceremony, but Verandis could feel her pain searing him almost as strongly as his own shame and guilt.

He had enough of people dying due to his mistakes.

Dio shook his head, almost impressed with the Count’s unrelenting dedication to coddle mortals. It would seem nothing, not even centuries nor personal loss would ever dull the man’s convictions. “Ugh, fine. No killing of mortals, have it your way. How do we get in?”

Verandis surveyed the dark ruin, but his guess was as good as Dio’s. “I’m… not sure. A trapdoor maybe?” 

After some searching and avoiding Montclair’s patrols, they did find a trapdoor in one of the crumbling towers, sealed away under lock and key. But what was a simple steel padlock to a couple of vampires? Verandis broke it off with next to no effort and cast aside, whilst Dio opened the trapdoor, revealing gaping darkness. Wasting no time, they entered the void, landing in a musty dungeon. 

No more than ten paces from the entrance they found an anomaly suspended in the air, casting a subtle violet glow on the old stonework. Scholars at heart, the two vampires approached cautiously, examining what appeared to be a faintly glowing slit in the very fiber of reality, extending withering black tendrils from within.

“And what do we have here?” Dio whistled. “Reezal-Jul’s handiwork?”

“No, this is too elegant to be the Argonian’s doing. This is Lleraya’s work.” Verandis realized, suddenly feeling uneasy and disoriented. Too suddenly for it to be natural. “She’s cast a veil on this place! Of course, she and her father anticipated me regaining my memories and pursuing them. She’s obstructed the real topography of the ruin and no doubt placed or hid dangers wherever she saw fit! Just like the lava pit ahead!”

The Dunmer gave the Count an skeptical look, then snapped his fingers, sending forth a shard of ice. Just as he predicted, it struck the cracked old floor, shattering like glass. 

“It’s just a gloomy old corridor, Verandis. Whatever this illusion is, it doesn’t seem to affect me.” He said with a shrug.

The Count pondered for a moment, staring at the path ahead, to him appearing as a pool of bubbling lava. “Interesting… and quite fortunate. My guess is, that Lleraya had woven her veil specifically to deter me and my daughters, but she did not anticipate you. I’m glad at least you can safely traverse this forsaken ruin, but that leaves me defenseless.”

Dio grunted, staring at the ceiling, making his mind about something. He could try and tear the veil, but he couldn’t tell how much time that would take. And he had precious little time to spare. Resigned, he extended his hand to the surprised Verandis, looking away embarrassed. 

“Don’t say anything, just take me by the hand and don’t let go. I’ll be your guide through this nonsense.”

Verandis held him just like he remembered – gently, but still firmly. It almost felt… reassuring. Bracing himself for a tough journey, Dio took the lead, passing the tear in Lleraya’s veil. Behind him Verandis let out an uncomfortable sigh, meeting with the illusion of the lava pit. 

“Alright?” Dio asked before he could bite himself on the tongue. Why should he care?

“Yes, I’m fine. I hadn’t anticipated the illusion to be this convincing, though. For a second I thought I was surely going to fall to my death.”

“I got you… this. I got this.” The Dunmer corrected himself, ignoring the impulse to look over his shoulder. “Careful, we’re about to go down some stairs.”

He counted each step out loud, descending one at a time. Though impatient, he restrained himself from making any comment, whilst Verandis followed cautiously. Thankfully, they arrived at the lower level without accident. Judging by the chains and giblets dangling from the ceiling this section of the ruin once served as a prison. 

“I just realized something. Lleraya needs to be slain.” The Count sighed sadly, letting the Dunmer lead him down the cellblock, which to him appeared as a spike-filled pit. “A pity. She does not deserve such fate, but she’s too far gone at this point. I hope her suffering can be ended swiftly.”

“Your emotions make you vulnerable.” Dio rolled his eyes, swatting away a spider dangling right in front of his face.

“Well, that makes two of us.” 

The Dunmer ignored the jab, turning the corner and passing a row of empty cells. But he couldn’t ignore that hand, holding his so naturally, just like old times. Biting his lip, he halted just as the path split into two opposite directions, struggling to go on. 

No one did anything even remotely gentle to him ever since his awakening. It was a stupid thing, but this bit of touch felt good. As pathetic as it made him feel, he realized this bit of contact made him feel something other than anger or annoyance for a change. Or anguish for being so utterly pathetic. 

“Everything alright?” 

That familiar concern in his voice…

“We’re at a crossroad, I’m trying to figure out which way to go.”

He took the left on a whim, but after a few minutes of walking in awkward silence their path was cut short by rocky debris. Grunting and cursing, Dio turned around, dragging Verandis back to the crossroad, taking the remaining path.

As it soon turned out, the ruin was not composed of corridors alone. Silent and tense, they entered a large chamber lit by stone braziers, with no way out. Or at least, that was what it appeared to the Count.

But Dio saw the true room – filled with animated Ayleid skeletons guarding a wide stone ramp leading somewhere even lower. Hearing them approach, the animated dead halted their aimless shambling, focusing their empty yet still glowing eyesockets at the two intruders.

“Skeletons.” Dio warned, reaching for his staff. “Grab me by the belt, I need my hands free for this.”

Lightning echoed through the chamber, followed by rattling of bones Verandis couldn’t see. He clutched the stretch of woven leather, observing bolt after bolt hitting their unseen enemies, until Dio was done and they could move on. 

“Traps.” The Dunmer hissed after they passed what seemed to Verandis to be a solid wall. 

“A lot?”

“A whole gauntlet of them. Flying is too risky, so just stay close.”

Cautiously, he made his first step with Verandis in tow. He stood still for a moment, before proceeding with more confidence. Which was his mistake, as he quickly ducked, pulling Verandis with him. Falling to the ground, the Count could have sworn he heard a mechanism move and a gust of air next to his throat.

“Rotating blades?” He guessed, laying flat on the dusty old floor.

“An entire corridor of them. Whatever the Ayleids stashed away here better be worth it.” 

They crawled, every few paces halting for Dio to best assess their route. To any distant observer they must have looked comical, but their spirits were far from cheery.

Covered in dust and cobwebs, they emerged at the end of the obstacle course, now facing heavy double doors with constellations carved into them. The doors, as well as the walls, were made of old white stone, a tell-tale sign of Ayleid architecture.

“Beautiful craftsmanship.” Verandis made seemingly irrelevant note, dusting himself off, glad he didn’t wear anything extravagant. “The Ayleids were known for their artistic depictions of the star signs. That is… if these are real and not another illusion.”

“Wait, you see them too? That means we’re past the illusion! Montclair’s daughter probably didn’t find it necessary to stretch it past the traps, thinking they would have long taken care of you.” 

With relief, Dio released Verandis, placing his hands on the doors instead. So did the Count. With some effort, they pushed the heavy stone doors aside, revealing a chamber lit by the pale-blue light of velkynd stones, found only in Ayleid ruins.

After Verandis described the room to Dio in painstaking detail, they dared enter yet were still cautious as they approached a stone slab in the center of the room, serving as either a workspace or altar. True to Reezal-Jul’s notes there was indeed a source of recorded knowledge laid out on the smooth stone surface, but it was neither a scroll nor tablet. Instead, it was a book bound in white leather with delicate red etchings on the borders.

“This is it. Take it and let’s get going.” Dio ushered, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, so that Verandis couldn’t see him nervously rubbing his palms. 

The Count cautiously waved his palm over the book, but sensed no magical traps. Risking being bold, he simply took the book from it’s ancient resting place, then tensed, anticipating something dangerous to happen. Seconds passed with the two of them staring each other down in tense silence before they both let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Great, now we just have to get out of here… back the way we came.” Dio realized annoyed, kicking away a piece of chipped rock. It was an irrational thing, but he could feel his hand itch where Verandis had touched him. And he had to lead him back safely. 

“By now you know the way back and took care of any dangers, so this will be brief. Are you alright?” Verandis asked, catching the quick look his former partner gave him. He could have sworn there was profound misery in those red eyes. Or perhaps it was a trick of the blue light?

“I’m fine.” Dio grumbled, turning his face away with some odd certainty that Verandis knew his every thought at that moment. Dam it, why did he have to run into him of all people? 

Giving Dio a moment to clear his head, the Count slid the priceless book into a pouch fastened to his belt. They should get going, he had to start translating the Ayleid text at once, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling something was not right with the man. 

“I can tell something’s bothering you. Something fresh. Did… everything go as planned with your mission? You seem angrier than usual.” He risked before he could consider whether this was the right time and place to ask personal questions. Or if he even should ask in the first place.

Dio’s frown deepened. Pressing his lips into a thin line he dared face the man he was once so close to. Seeing him this riled up, almost to the point of tears, Verandis’ eyes widened, then filled with sympathy, further deepening Dio’s frustration. He knew he was pitiful, but that look was uncalled for. 

“Partially. We did our job, but first we had to face off against Mannimarco. I fought him and won. The moment I buried my fangs into his neck was the closest I’ve felt to joy in a very long time. I drained him dry, but death was not going to stop a necromancer of his caliber. I cast Soultrap on him, but before I could imprison him in a soul gem, Bal intervened, ripping him from my grasp and taking to Coldharbour.” He confessed, hanging his head low and staring at the intricate Ayleid stonework, trembling. Ashes, was he really about to break down here and now?

“But in the end you bested him. You won. You can let go now…” Verandis assured patiently, against his better judgement motioning closer. 

“No!” The Dunmer snapped, letting loose of his frustration. “This was supposed to be my moment! I was supposed to imprison Mannimarco’s soul and keep him as a trophy! A fitting punishment for depriving me of mine! I needed to have my revenge, but Bal took it away from me! Makes me wonder, what else is he going to take? Well, he better get creative, because I have almost nothing left.” He shouted, then laughed bitterly, completely resigned, at ease with his humiliation. 

“You’re hurting.” Verandis dared step even closer.

“Damned right I am! What do you want me to say? That I’ve been miserable since you got rid of me? That rage and lust for revenge are the only things keeping me together?! I-”

He was too damned close! Dio let out a choked cry, stepping back as far as he could, but it was not far enough. Why did the room suddenly feel so small? 

Verandis frowned, looking almost equally miserable. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I should have protected you better. I should have made sure no one found you.”

“No, you don’t get to feel sorry for me now! ‘Protected me’, are you serious?! You don’t get to act like you care after casting me aside and robbing me of all those years! You should have just killed me all those years ago! But I guess you can add that to your list of mistakes.”

He felt weak and dizzy. Before he could trip over his own feet, he grabbed the edge of the slab. The ancient stone gave in under his grip, chipping off. He stumbled, falling back, but Verandis caught him before he could fall. Dio had no choice but to look him in the eyes, finding in them centuries-old grief.

“I made a lot of mistakes in my life. But turning you was not one of them.” The Count quietly said. “And I will keep telling you, that I am truly sorry for what I did to you, but I would never kill you. Because if I did, you would end up in Coldharbour like all vampires after we die. And I would never allow that.”

Dio’s chin trembled. “Shut up. Don’t tell me this. Not now.” He hissed, but his words came out a desperate plea. 

He let out a pained sigh when Verandis pulled him closer. He had his staff ready, or he could just send lightning up the bastard’s arm. But he did no such thing, resting his cheek on the taller man’s chest. 

They stood like this for some time, before Verandis broke the silence. 

“You forced my hand, but it was I who made the decision of putting you to sleep. I regret not reacting sooner, then maybe I could have stopped you from succumbing to your mad obsession with power.” 

“You bastard, you have no mercy!” Dio cried in his chest.

Gently, Verandis tilted the other man’s chin and they looked each other in the eyes. 

“I regret not taking care of your body. And I regret I didn’t try to wake you up and reason with you when the time was right. I confess, I was afraid to face you after forcing your slumber.” The Count’s noble face scrunched in pain and he needed a moment to control his voice. “I failed you. As a friend and companion, I failed you. And I deserve your ire. But I never regretted sharing my blood with you, or those years we spent before everything went wrong. You are not one of my mistakes.”

He could still be so damned verbose. Dio should have scoffed, but he could only let out a weak sigh. It was unclear who made the first move, but suddenly he was standing on his toes, twisting his fingers into the Count’s hair, whilst Verandis was practically pulling him up into his arms. Their lips met and for a second they both stared at each other wide-eyed, before closing them and giving in. 

Their kiss was not of the gentle type. It was hungry, greedy, filled with possessive grunts and blood on their bitten tongues. And it felt good, as much as an impulsive kiss between two former lovers could feel before one of them came to their senses first.

That person was Dio. Abruptly, he withdrew with a terrified gasp, letting some of their mixed blood trickle down his chin. Forcefully, he freed himself from Verandis’ embrace, and staggered back, whilst Verandis covered his equally bloody mouth in horror. 

“This… means nothing. Just a moment of weakness, that’s all.” Dio muttered, both humiliated and shocked, furiously wiping blood from his chin.

“I’m sorry.” Verandis whispered, equally shaken at what they just did. Even if it made him feel good and normal for just a moment, that was an old wound he did not want reopened. 

“Stop talking. I can’t focus with you talking. Just… let’s get out of here.”

\---

The trapdoor swung open with a loud slam, letting the pair of dust-covered vampires out into the night. Dio bolted, running across the ruin, paying no regard whether any of Montclair’s soldiers would spot him. Verandis followed, until they were at a safe distance. The Dunmer was still running though, and abruptly halted only after it was made clear Verandis wouldn’t give up pursuing him. 

“Stop following me!” He hissed, his voice dangerously low, reclaiming some of that rage that kept him going.

Cautiously, Verandis rose his palms, maintaining a safe distance. “We need to talk about what just happened.”

“There’s nothing to talk about!”

“I’m sorry.” The Count said, before realizing he’s apologized so many times tonight, that he wasn’t sure of what he was sorry for anymore. 

“You just can’t help but make things worse, can you?” Dio’s shoulders trembled, unlike his voice. “Why in Oblivion would you tell me all those things?!”

“I needed to be honest with you… and with myself. But I really didn’t want to make things harder for you.”

“Well, you did.”

Verandis closed his eyes, trying to find the right words. He needed to say something, but could only come up with more apologies that were sure to do more harm than good. But he couldn’t just stand there with his eyes shut like a coward either. The book in his pouch felt heavy, but that burden reminded him of why they came to this cursed ruin in the first place.

Montclair. He was still out there, threatening the safety of Rivenspire and its people. 

“I have to start translating this immediately.” He finally said, opening his eyes. 

There was no reply, Verandis was alone. A dark shadow of a flock of bats flew across the moons and Dio was gone. 

\---

Drained by yet another exhausting night, he arrived at his castle’s front steps just as dawn was approaching. To his faint amusement, he noticed his daughter lurking atop of a tree, awaiting his return. 

“You’re back! Good, I was beginning to worry!” Gwendis exclaimed, jumping down from the petrified old oak Verandis never had the heart to cut down. “Are you alright?” She asked alarmed, seeing her maker closer in light cast by their lone front streetlamp.

“Yes. We’ve had some complications, but were successful in the end. I’m just tired, that’s all.” He assured, hoping his weak smirk was convincing enough.

“You have blood on your mouth! Did that bastard try to hurt you?!” She asked, studying every details of his face under the sparse light, ready to find the Dunmer and skin him alive if she had to.

“No, none of the sort. It’s almost dawn, let’s get back inside…” 

He shut the carved old doors behind them with relief. Allowing himself to stretch in the safety of his grand hall, he realized he hadn’t even had the time to properly appreciate the restorative work the glassworkers from Shornhelm did on their stained-glass window. It was exquisite, possibly even better than the original. He should see to it that someone sends over a small bonus to the artisans in the coming days. But this was something he could take care of tomorrow. He had a tough night and needed to get some rest before another round of difficult translations. 

“Listen, I hate to bother you just before bedtime, but I have some news.” Gwendis cautiously said, halting the Count before he could slip away to his quarters.

“What is it?” He sighed, anticipating more troubles.

“We’ve got a messenger from Dorell while you were away. Lleraya took over Northpoint and has the city under lockdown. She’s rounded up some nobles and is keeping them in the Dorell estate. Including his son.” 

Verandis shook his head, feeling the first signs of an impending headache. But he shouldn’t be surprised for Lleraya to strike in the worst possible moment, she was a brilliant young woman, if a bit sentimental.

“I will consider this, but we need to be careful, now that our forces are stretched thin.”

Gwendis nodded, keeping her eyes on him, adamant about something. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. But first, I wanted to apologize.”

“Kallin’s death was not your fault.” He reassured, reaching to rest his hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head, gently pushing his hand aside. Comfort was not what she was after.

“Perhaps, but I’ve been of no use to our House since we’ve lost him. Adusa is gone and all I did for the past few days was mope, while you need me now more than ever. So, I’m sorry for being a crybaby. I have to stop acting like a child, and… I need you to stop treating me like one.”

“Gwendis, you really needn’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Ugh, you really can be difficult sometimes!” She scoffed, resting her fists on her hips, like she were the adult scolding a stubborn child. “You are probably the most important person in my life! There, I said it. You did so much for me and it’s time I finally did the same!”

A shadow of a smirk creeped up his face and he couldn’t help but look at her tenderly. She was sensitive, even if she would never admit it. But she also had that inner fire, shining even brighter when faced with adversities. He loved her to death, even if he could only love her as her father.

But that was another problem for another time. 

“I can see your brow furrowing. You were up to something while I was gone?” He guessed.

“I have! I contacted Darien and Skordo, who in turn reached out to Tamirth and Dorell. We have a small force of both Lion Guard and Dorell troops stationed near Northpoint. I know of a smuggler tunnel leading into the city, but before we can send in any men, we need to take care of Montclair’s troops. And…” for a second she bit her lip, wary of her next words, “… we need to take out Lleraya.”

“Unfortunately.” He frowned.

“I know she liked you, so I will do my best to make sure she does not suffer, I swear!” Gwendis promised, pressing her fists to her chest. “And on that note, I think you should stay away from this one, so I’m going to take the Dunmer. He’s an arse, but we need someone who knows magic if we want to stand a chance against her. I’m ready to get to work, all I need is your okay.”

Ignoring the numb throbbing in his skull, Verandis carefully considered his daughter’s words. She was still so young… but he couldn’t coddle her forever. Her plan sounded solid, she just had to find a way to convince Dio to work with her. 

Something told him she wouldn’t have any trouble with that.

\---

Dio ducked under another wave, remaining submerged for several minutes. In the safe confines of the sea, he let out another tormented scream, sending it floating in large bubbles. He resurfaced, feeling little relief. Though his tongue was long healed, he could still taste the flavor of their blood… mixing, pouring down his throat in a sweet, warm cascade. 

Face twisted with both anger and anguish, he gathered seawater into his mouth and gurgled, spitting it out over his shoulder. No, he still felt that taste burn his mouth just like it did the night before, when he allowed a few tender words render him completely vulnerable.

He had no idea what he was going to do when he sees Verandis again. The thought of abandoning Rivenspire did cross his mind, but he commanded himself to focus on his objective. He still had a lot of work to do, he can break down and wallow in self-pith when he’s done. There was still the last Dolmen to take care of. Not to mention, he couldn’t afford cowardice to further damage his pride. He just had to suck it in, honor their agreement and get out of this forsaken land once they are even. And never come back.

He sensed he was no longer alone in his secluded cove. He spun around, raising his arms and picking up a sizeable ball of water over his head, ready to crush with it whoever dared interrupt his bath. Annoyed, he let out a grumble, finding he was being visited by Gwendis and Janeve.

“What is it you fledglings want?” He asked, tossing the ball behind, sending tall ripples throughout the water.

“We have a city to liberate.” Gwendis said with a cocky grin, disturbing the Dunmer’s folded clothes with the tip of her boot, taunting him to come make her stop. “Lleraya took over Northpoint and is keeping the people hostage, including Dorell’s son.”

“And?”

“And I need you to get dressed and help me stop her before she either kills them or does something far worse. Like turn them into Bloodfiends and unleash upon Rivenspire”

“Since when are you giving me orders, little one?” He crossed his arms, wondering if he should conjure another ball of water, just to put this cocky little thing down a notch.

“I don’t. I’m speaking on behalf of the Ravenwatch, and correct me if I’m wrong – you made a deal with us. Janeve can keep an eye on the Worm Cult while you’re away. Verandis has his nose buried in that Ayleid book you’ve uncovered, so it’s going to be just you and me… and your friends Darien and Skordo… and some of Dorell and Emeric’s forces… and possibly even Dorell and Tamirth.” 

“What a merry band.” He scoffed, wringing water out of his dreadlocks.

Paying no mind to the venom in his voice, Gwendis picked up his garments, weighing them in her palm like a bargaining chip. “Are you going to be an arse and make me take your clothes, or are you going to be the big bad vampire you want everyone to take you for? Because your scoffing and glaring is not convincing me.” 

Janeve let out a squeak, averting her gaze as the Dunmer unhurriedly approached, revealing more and more of himself with each step. Gwendis remained in place, still holding the flashy bastard’s clothes, her gaze never going lower than his eyes. She stared him down, calm and unflinching, until he let out an amused snort. 

“Toss me my coat.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Baron, you do not seem to be surprised that there are secret tunnels underneath your city.” Countess Tamirth noted, her grip on Darien’s shoulder as unyielding as her disapproving gaze. 

“I’ve known about them for years.” The man replied unbothered, studying the map of Northpoint stretched on a rickety old table. 

“And all this time you haven’t done anything about the smugglers?” She gasped shocked, glancing at Darien to say something, but the man was busy counting mouse droppings in the floor.

“Oh, but I did, dear Countess. They pay me to look the other way, whilst I let them go about their business… within reason, of course.” Dorell grinned, clearly delighted by the woman’s outrage. 

The Countess huffed, but refrained from further comments. Gwendis, Darien, Skordo and Dio wisely stayed silent, all shaking their heads slightly. Skordo cleared his throat, dispassionately stirring the long-cold embers in the hearth of the abandoned farmhouse they all gathered in.

“So, the plan is for the four of us to sneak into the city after nightfall and open the gates, yea?” He said, setting the poker aside to cross his arms. “Sneaking around like a thief is not my first choice, but neither is sitting and waiting. I call dibs on the first Montclair bastard I see.”

Gwendis peeked through the heavy shutters, relieved to find the sun was about to set. Good, she needed all her strength for what they were about to do. Just a few more minutes and they could move out. Her eyes met with the Dunmer’s, burning in the dim room. 

“Explain to me why can’t the two of us just fly over the city walls?” Dio shrugged, studying the dusty cobwebs draped under the ceiling. 

“I wouldn’t recommend that.” Darien chimed in, glad to have an excuse to peel himself from Countess Tamirth’s possessive hold, at least temporarily. “Judging by the dead seagulls around the city, I’m guessing young Baroness Montclair was anticipating someone trying to take the high route and set up some sort of magic defenses.” 

“You are still welcome to test them out for yourself.” Dorell grinned at the vampire, reaching for his canteen. Ignoring the Dunmer’s low hiss, he drank deep, burped, then slammed the empty canteen on the table, staring Gwendis down. “Now, I’m going to give your plan a shot, but I’m warning you… If my son or my people suffer, I am going to hold your entire House personally responsible.”

“Oh, you can trust this one, Baron. I’m sure she will have your son’s best interest at heart, just like she did with my sister.” The Countess voice, although polite, dripped with venom. 

How was Verandis able to endure these two insufferable mortals without wanting to tear his hair out and howl at the moons? The Bosmer bit her tongue before she could say something unpleasant. She had a retort ready at the tip of her tongue, sure to entice offended gasps and how-dare-you’s from the nobles, but she was representing her House and her maker. She promised him she wouldn’t let him down, and arrogant mortals were not about to sway her convictions. 

“It’s time.” She said as calmly as she could, adjusting her twin axes on her hips. “Thank you for putting your trust in us, Baron.” 

Dorell scoffed, but Gwendis was already heading for the door. One by one the four of them left the farmhouse, letting out perfectly synchronized sighs and grunts of relief when the old wooden doors closed behind them. They then set off, staying out of sight and off the road. 

“For a moment I thought you were a gonner.” In the dark Skordo grinned at Darien. “Do you think the Countess has plans to keep you around after all this is over?”

The Breton laughed carefreely, but the deep shadows under his clever eyes betrayed the Countess’ company was taking its toll on him. “Rest assured, my blunt friend, that I am experienced in slipping away from difficult affairs. Besides, I don’t think the King would let any woman steer me away from my duties, no matter how beautiful… or mad.”

Behind them the two vampires walked the shadows in silence, both uneasy at some creeping sensation the mortals were unaware of.

“Do you sense it too?” Gwendis asked, staring at the rooftops of the dark, still city in the distance.

“The aura of death, despair and cruelty clinging to Northpoint like the stench of sweat and stale ale clings to Dorell? I do.”

She shrugged, but it was not due to the ocean breeze that washed over them the moment they took a turn and walked a narrow path leading down to the beach. 

“The Relic… I remember how it seeped into the Montclairs and twisted them.” She quietly said, recollecting the tragedy on top of the Doomcrag. She then lifted her gaze at the Dunmer, reaching to pinch his sleeve. He looked down at her more surprised than angered, finding urgency in her big eyes. 

“What?” He simply asked.

“Lleraya was a really sweet girl, you know? She was always nice to me, even though she and I both… Well, she didn’t deserve what happened to her. And what’s about to happen…” Gwendis paused, but they both knew the young Baroness could not be spared at this point. “She was a talented mage as a mortal, and I can only imagine how powerful she is now, so we both know you’re the one going up against her. Just do me a favor and make it quick, okay? That family has suffered enough.”

His brows rose at the sentiment. This feisty little thing sure took after her father. Nonetheless, he nodded.

“Fine. Now let go of my coat, it’s my last clean one.” 

The group soon found a small secluded grotto packed with shipping crates and barrels concealing a trapdoor underneath. To no one’s surprise, it was locked. Before Gwendis could pull out her lockpick, Skordo simply broke down the salt and water eroded door with a kick, nearly falling into the gaping darkness if it weren’t for Darien grabbing him by the shoulder in time. Rolling his eyes, Dio faded into smoke, creeping into the dark hole. Reluctantly, the remaining three followed. 

The smuggler tunnels were dank, reeking of wet wood, lamp oil and rotting crabs. Even Gwendis and Dio, who needn’t breathe in the rancid air, covered their noses and mouths.

“Ashes, how did the smugglers move their goods through here without passing out!” The Dunmer grunted, illuminating the path ahead with a conjured orb of light. “Let’s move faster before we get marinated in this stench!”

Though damp and winding, the tunnels were fortunately abandoned. Undisturbed, the four heroes reached a tall ladder leading up to another trapdoor.

“I’ll go see if the coast is clear.” Gwendis said, reaching to climb the ladder first. She pushed off the ground and quickly ascended, prominently displaying her behind to the three men below.

“We’ve got your back.” Skordo assured, elbowing the staring Darien in the side. 

Quietly snickering to herself, Gwendis quickly reached the top. Cautiously, she cracked the hatch wide enough to take a peek. She remained motionless for a few tense moments, before waving at them to follow.

They found themselves in Northpoint lighthouse. Dark and abandoned, like the rest of the city. Although the streets were empty, not even a rat in sight, they remained cautious, keeping their weapons and spells ready as they advanced in uncomfortable silence.

“No guards, no townsfolk, where is everybody?” Darien wondered, peeping over the corner at the empty town square.

“I’ve lived here for a few years and let me tell you, the city feels… dead.” Skordo shrugged, gazing up at the night sky, finding not one bird in sight. “There, that’s Dorell manor.” He pointed the tip of his sword at the only building with the lights on.

“She’s taunting us. She knows we have to come to her.” Dio said quietly, struggling to ignore the sudden chill that went down his spine. The manor radiated the same aura he and Gwendis sensed on their way, only from here it was almost tangible, like smoke coming from a housefire.

“First, let’s go open the city gates. I know we’re all capable, but even we can’t liberate an entire city ourselves.” Gwendis reminded, stepping out of cover. 

Looking out for any signs of ambush, they crossed the square and walked down the city’s main street undisturbed, reaching Northpoint’s city gate. As Darien and Skordo struggled with the boarded-up doors, Gwendis suddenly halted, sensing they were being watched.

“Wait, something’s not right…” She warned, staring up at the rooftops, finding nothing. Yet, she was certain they were not alone, she just couldn’t pinpoint the exact… 

Her eyes widened when she noticed the eyes of a gargoyle statue hunched over the city gates were staring back at her, red and unblinking. That was no statue. Before she could shout a warning, the gargoyle dashed with a chilling roar. Trusting her instincts, she grabbed Darien and pulled him away before the man was eviscerated by the monster.

“When I said dibs, this is not what I had in mind!” Skordo yelled, dodging the gargoyle’s swishing tail.

“I knew this was too easy!” Dio hissed, preparing a spell. 

He rose his hand preparing to strike, but felt his strength suddenly wane. His arm rested numb at his side whilst he watched the gargoyle turn its attention to the other three, ignoring him completely, like it knew he was not to be harmed. The world seemed to slow down around him, to the point he could count each individual tooth in the monster’s gaping maw when it opened wide to bite off Skordo’s head.

Against his will, he turned away from the fight before he had a chance to see if the gargoyle was successful, obeying a silent call summoning him to Dorell manor. Deep down his fleeting consciousness he knew he was being bewitched, but that somehow didn’t bother him. To the contrary, with each step he felt some strange excitement and a sense of eagerness. But for what? 

He arrived at the front doors before he knew it, grinning like an idiot. He lifted his knuckles to the wood, but the doors silently opened before he could knock, welcoming him to the most opulent, decadent party he ever had the chance to attend.

“Welcome.” He heard a disembodied voice coming from somewhere above him, sending shivers of anticipation up his spine. “So good to finally meet you…”

He entered the main hall joining the other guests silently watching a couple dancing under the warm light of a masterful crystal chandelier. There she was, Lleraya Montclair, sweet and soft, yet so inconceivably tempting. The man that danced with her couldn’t have been anyone other than Lord Ellic Dorell, looking like the luckiest man alive.

The ballroom erupted in applause as they finished their dance. Ellic fell to his knee, daring lift Lleraya’s pale hand to his lips, but she stopped him with a barely noticeable frown. With his cheeks burning red he released her hand, got up and vanished into the crowd with a deep apologetic bow, deeply embarrassed by his forwardness.

Lleraya tilted her head to lock eyes with her new guest. She gave him a wide smile, bearing her little sharp teeth, beckoning Dio to come closer. He obeyed without thinking.

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting you. But I do like surprises, they make everything much more exciting, don’t you think?” She said, placing her hand on his chest.

“I couldn’t agree more.” He replied in a tone so uncharacteristically warm, pulling his arm around her waist and gently holding her other hand. 

The unseen musicians played a tune perfect for a slow dance paired with some conversation. Dio didn’t know the steps, yet his feet moved with familiarity as he lost himself in the young woman’s hypnotic eyes. 

“So, you’re the one, who dispatched my father’s pet Argonian.” Lleraya noted casually, resting her cheek on Dio’s shoulder, but still firmly leading their dance. “I must say, I imagined you… taller.” 

She looked up at him with an impish spark in her red eyes and he couldn’t help but laugh. She laughed back, letting him twirl her around before their still chests met again.

“I’ve heard so many things about you, but no one told me how… you… what presence you have.” He confessed, overtaken by pure bliss of having her this close. 

Lleraya’s eyes widened with genuine curiosity. “Really? Tell me, what else have you heard about me?”

“That you are talented with magic.” 

“I am!” Lleraya chuckled, holding him tighter. “What else?”

“That you are impossibly sweet, and… and…” His brows crossed and he bit the inside of his cheek, struggling to think about anything that was not this exact place and moment.

“Go on, don’t keep a lady waiting like that! What else did they tell you about me?” She encouraged with sparkles dancing in her eyes. 

“How… how much you loved your mother. And how unfair it was for you to get tangled in all of this.” He recollected in a sudden moment of clarity that passed as quickly as it came.

Lleraya’s face scrunched in pain and she forcefully pried herself away from him. Dio blinked and opened his mouth, but couldn’t utter a word, certain he had somehow offended her.

“My mother.” Lleraya lifted her trembling hand to her temple, snapped out of some trance herself. “Yes, I loved her dearly. I… oh no… H-he tore her head off! Right in front of me!”

She covered her mouth, staring back at the Dunmer in horror. The music stopped and Dio could finally see the ballroom for what it truly was; a chamber splattered in dried blood and decorated with mauled bodies of Northpoint’s townspeople and nobles alike. They were all dead, the servants, the guests, even the musicians clinging to their instruments with their cold stiff hands. All, save for young Ellic Dorell who had also snapped out of Lleraya’s spell and let out a cry of terror before fainting and hitting the floor with a loud thud.

Dio shook his head, remembering who he was and why he came to this forsaken place. To put Lleraya out of her misery. He had his staff was ready in a split-second, just like lightning in his free hand, but Lleraya was gone. Grunting, he looked up at the chandelier to find it was wrapped in viscera, steadily dripping blood on him the entire time.

“My last clean coat…” He muttered, approaching the young Dorell. “Hey!” He yelled, pulling the mortal up by his collar and slapping across the face.

“W-wha…? Gods, no! This isn’t a dream!” Ellic cried, waking up and taking in the madhouse that was once his family home. 

“Where is the biggest and fanciest room in this place?” Dio asked with his palm dangerously raised in case the mortal was about to fall into hysteria.

“My father’s bedroom. It’s on the top floor, at the end of the main hall, you can’t miss it.” Ellic said with a wince he couldn’t control. 

Satisfied, he released the mortal, heading to climb the manor’s main stairs.

“Wait!” Ellic called out behind him. “Are you going to leave me here?”

“At ease, I’ll be back once I deal with the Montclair girl.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do in the meantime?!” Ellic asked, looking around to take in more carnage.

“You can start with changing your pants.” The vampire flashed his fangs before leaving. 

\---

Lleraya sobbed in Baron Dorell’s opulent bed letting droplets of dark blood flow freely down her pale cheeks and smear against the embroidered fabric of a pillow she was hugging.

“Oh, you came for me.” She stated bitterly when Dio entered the bedchamber with his staff ready. She tossed the pillow aside, wiping her eyes furiously, like a child after a tantrum. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll try to make this quick.” He grinned unpleasantly, charging lightning in his fist. 

Before he could release it, she was upon him with her own staff in hand. She spun around with unexpected speed, smacking the side of Dunmer’s head, sending him crashing into an antique wardrobe, reducing the beautiful piece of furniture into splinters.

“He couldn’t even bother to come finish me off himself?!” Lleraya screamed furiously, aiming to stab Dio through the chest, but he managed to roll and get on his feet in time. 

“He’s saving himself for your father!” Dio hissed, dodging another attack. “Though I have to hand it to you, that veil of yours in Lorkrata Hills was a pain to deal with!”

“Why, thank you! I worked hard on it!” The young woman faked a curtesy, then struck the elf with a magic shard of ice, lacerating his sleeve and the flesh underneath.

“Oh, if you only knew the indignity I had to suffer because of it!” Dio spat, slashing her thigh with his claws, then blocking Llerraya’s instant retaliation with his weapon. “I’ll be honest, I’ll enjoy giving you some payback!” 

Their pale faces mere inches away, they glared at each other with eyes burning and fangs gnashed.

“You hate me, don’t you?” Lleraya asked, her pretty face twisted with pain and feral rage. 

She pushed him away, sending flying across the room. Dio hit the bed with a surprised yelp, breaking the frame and bedposts on impact. His staff still firmly in his grasp, he quickly rolled off the pile of broken wood, ready to dodge or block an incoming attack, but Lleraya just stood in the center of the room, straight and tense.

“Everyone hates me now, I can feel it.” She shook her head sadly, casting her staff aside with a resigned shrug. “I never wanted any of this to happen! I just wanted mother to get better! I wanted her and father to stop arguing! And… and… I wanted Count Ravenwatch… I wanted Verandis to like me. But he hates me now, my mother is dead and my father has gone mad.” 

Her chin trembled. Before the fresh tears could pool out of her eyes, she covered her face with both hands and fell to her knees, crying like only a hurting young woman could. 

Shaking off splinters, Dio approached. He could take her out while she was occupied with her own woes, just one powerful swing and he could lop her head off clean. But he didn’t. Instead, he reached to gently tilt her up by the chin. Lleraya peeled her bloodied hands away from her face, looking up at him, lucid and engulfed in pain that so unjustly befell on her.

“You didn’t deserve this, but we both know I can’t just let you go.” He stated flatly, releasing her chin to grip his weapon with both hands. “But if it’s of any consolation for you, the old fool asked me to spare you suffering. So did his fledgling.”

“They did?” Her big eyes widened and for a second there was some semblance of relief on her face.

“Mhm. So, are you going to make this difficult or…?” 

She sprang up, but had no fight left in her. She looked him in the eye with sorrow, mincing the hem of her soiled dress.

“I… I did some horrible things. My father… he told me to make more, as many as I could, just like he ordered Reezal-Jul. I shared our gift with many, but left some for myself and did far worse things to them… I tricked them into loving me. I toyed with them like they were mere playthings… I gorged myself on them as they thanked me with their last dying breaths. It made me feel good for a while, but it was never enough.” She revealed quietly. 

Dio didn’t say anything, only nodded. He didn’t have to listen, but he let her pour her heart out in front of him, confessing to all the vile, cruel acts she committed upon the residents of Northpoint. 

“Do it.” Lleraya finally said, wiping dried blood off her cheeks. “I deserve to die for what I did. I just want it to be over so I can be with mother again.” 

He lunged without a warning, taking a powerful swing. Lleraya took a startled step back, raising her hands to her throat for a gasp that never came. A thin red line slowly appeared on her neck and she fell to her side with her head separated from the rest of her body. The head itself rolled on the sticky carpet, stopping at the side of the elf’s boot with her fading eyes staring back at him, forever frozen in surprise. 

“You poor, foolish young thing…” He whispered, looking away. 

It was done. Dio let out a tired sigh, approaching what was left of Dorell’s wardrobe. From the tall pile of crumpled clothes he picked up the most expensive-looking coat only to tear off a large strip, then used it to wipe his staff clean of the poor young woman’s blood. With a small vindictive smirk, he tossed the bloodied rag aside, leaving the bedchamber to get Ellic.

\---

Dorell’s son was nowhere to be found. Of course, there had to be complications. Muttering curses, he followed the smell of sweat and fear, exiting the manor the same way he came, finding a contingent of house Dorell soldiers standing at full attention at the base of the manor steps, as well as the man himself, glaring and shouting accusations at his cowering son.

“Father, I would never let any harm befall our people!” Ellic swore, dropping to his knees. “Lleraya bewitched me! I was powerless against her!”

“You let the enemy into our city! Into our home! I hereby sentence you to death for treason!” Baron Allard yelled, deaf at this son’s excuses, his anger completely sobering him up. 

“Father!” Ellic cried, now being dragged up to his feet by two House Dorell soldiers. 

“Do not call me that! I have no son, you are dead to me!” The Baron turned his face away in disgust. “I will have you publicly quartered for what you did! Until then, you will rot in the stocks!” 

Dio crossed his arms, observing the display from a safe distance, pretending to be unaware of Gwendis appearing at his side.

“It’s done. She didn’t suffer.” He quietly said.

“Thank you. But where in Oblivion were you?!” She hissed, nudging him in the side as they both passively watched the scene between the Baron and his son escalate into shouting and crying. The young man’s teary red face was a pitiful sight but somehow neither of them could look away, both equally disgusted and drawn by this new tragedy. 

“Lleraya put a spell on me, but I snapped out of it. How was the gargoyle?”

“Challenging but manageable. We took care of it, then opened the gates. The rest… well you can see for yourself. Dorell needs someone to take the blame for this, but executing his own son…” She shook her head in disbelief at the extent of the Baron’s cruelty. 

“Someone has to pay. Better his son than him, I guess.” Dio shrugged, watching the young Ellic get dragged to the center of the town square and put in stocks, still crying and begging for mercy.

“She mesmerized him! He’s not to blame!” Gwendis practically shouted, kicking aside a pebble with helpless fury. “And they call us monsters?! Hypocrites!”

The two undead simultaneously crossed the arms at the approaching Countess and Baron, with Darien and Skordo in tow.

“Lleraya?” Dorell asked, staring down the bloodied vampire.

“Dead. You might want to have someone clean up your private chambers, though. She and I made quite the mess. Actually, I’d recommend you give the entire manor a thorough scrub, you are not going to like what you find inside. Just make sure whoever does the cleaning can stomach handling blood and guts.” Dio grinned. 

“Baron, about your son, don’t you think…” Gwendis dared to try talk some sense into the mortal. And just like Verandis, she had no luck.

“Was I talking to you?!” Dorell snapped, accompanied by Tamirth’s self-righteous huff. 

“Still, the little one has a point. Slaying one’s kin, especially your own children… that’s not something to be taken lightly.” Dio noted casually.

“And what would you know about kin-slaying and having children?” Dorell grunted, instinctively resting his hand on his sword’s hilt, but the Dunmer was unbothered by the thinly veiled threat.

“This is justice. Something, that your kind has no business meddling in.” Tamirth chimed in, but she was eying Gwendis, not Dio. “You do best to remember that.”

“My ladyship…” Darien cleared his throat, stepping in before things got out of hand. “It’s best we leave. It’s been a long night and-”

“Ser Gautier, you seem to be forgetting who you are speaking to!”

“My lady, I was merely-”

“You were merely interfering into affairs of people fay beyond your station!” 

Dio rubbed his face tiredly, overwhelmed by the shouting contest that followed. Mortals, what an annoying lot. Though, his own kind was even worse. He looked down at Gwendis, still glued to his side. She was doing a good job controlling her fiery temper, but he could still see in her eyes that overwhelming impulse to act. She stared back at him with purpose and her lips moved without a word as she pointed her head towards the stocks.

Help him. Please.

A flash of white blinded everyone present as lightning tore the sky with a loud crack, hitting the stocks and their prisoner, killing Ellic Dorell instantly. The Countess cried in surprise. The Baron let out a furious yell. Gwendis flashed a relieved smile. 

“Well, would you look at that. Odd.” Dio casually said, looking up at the cloudless sky.

Dorell was instantly upon him, breathing heavily at his face and gripping him tightly by the shoulders, but Dio remained calm.

“You! This was your doing!” Dorel seethed through clenched teeth.

“Now why would I bother?” The Dunmer shrugged indifferently, drawing his face closer to the mortal. “I’m a vampire, mercy is a foreign concept to me.” 

"True.” Dorell dared the Dunmer’s red eyes. “Yet I know spite when I see it.” 

Who knows how the situation would have escalated from there if Janeve hadn’t arrived, bursting seemingly out of thin air in a cloud of loudly squeaking bats. 

“Oh joy…” Dorell grumbled, releasing Dio and stepping aside.

“By the Light!” Countess Tamirth cried out, instinctively taking a step back.

Janeve glanced at her sister with pain in her eyes, but Eselde refused to meet her imploring gaze. Remembering her mission, Janeve collected herself and approached the two other vampires with her head held up high and back straight. 

“The ritual site is active!” She reported, giving Gwendis a quick smile. “The cultists are preparing, we can take them by surprise if we hurry!”

“My pleasure.” Dio whispered sweetly, straightening out his fatigued coat. 

“I’m coming with you.” Gwendis swore. “After all, that was the deal, wasn’t it? You help us, we help you.”

“Another chance to squash some daedra? Count me in!” Skordo grinned.

The usually chatty Darien pondered the situation, before turning to Dorell. “There is no time to rally the Lion Guard. Baron, I need to commandeer some of your men.” He addressed the stewing man, ignoring the dirty look he got in response.

“And just who do you think you are?!” The Baron snapped, his fist itching.

Darien’s handsome face was calm and still, his tone unflinching as he addressed the noble again, only this time with authority, abandoning his usual jovial tone. “I mean no disrespect, dear Baron, but remember that I am here on King Emeric’s orders and he was clear that we have to stop the Planemeld at all cost. So, your compliance is greatly appreciated. Dear Countess,” he turned to address the disgruntled Tamirth, his tone and face devoid of even the slightest hint of flirt, but still respectful, “I must leave your side for the time being, but I’m sure the Baron can spare someone to escort you to your estate safely.” 

“May the Light guide you, Ser Gautier. However, your future services will not be needed by House Tamirth.” She bid, her tone and face cold as ice. “But before you leave, hear my advice. Be mindful of what company you keep.”

He gave her one of his cocky grins, prominently displaying his perfectly white teeth, then gave a deep, almost comically courteous bow. “Dear Countess, I am always careful of whom I truly allow to get close to me.” 

His companions all shared amused looks, before grouping up to head out and face off against whatever Coldharbour had in store for them.

\---

Translating the Ayleid text was easier than he thought, now that he had some practice with the language. Still, he did his translation three times over before giving up and accepting what he had learned from deciphering the ancient volume. 

The Relic, or the Remnant of Light as the Ayleids called it, required a vessel to make full potential of it’s overwhelming power. Once unleashed, the vessel acted as it’s conduit. And to break either of them would end in disaster. The book was vague about the exact nature of said disaster, but Verandis was sure it would doom the entire realm, possibly even all of Tamriel. 

The vessel was Montclair, driven mad with grief and the Relic’s power, amplified by the vampiric corruption Verandis provided. The man could not be spared, but his inevitable death would bring instant doom upon the mortal world… 

This whole situation was hopeless. And all because of his own actions. 

But what else was new?

So, for the past hour Verandis sat motionlessly on the floor of his grand library, pretending he wasn’t on the verge of a breakdown. His hands covering his face muffled his bitter chuckle. What irony, that he spent ages defying his nature, only to have his good intentions spread so much corruption and suffering upon the very mortals he swore to protect from his own kind.

Good intentions! He should be honest with himself and admit he acted on hubris. What an arrogant fool he was thinking he could help Leila cheat death with the help of some miracle artifact. And this was not even the first time he committed such a crime against nature! Centuries before poor Leila Montclair there was another mortal woman he sought to rip from the cold grip of death with enough wisdom and dare, only to end up twisting her into a monster… And killing her with his own bare hands. 

However loathsome he felt at his own actions, he was not without a plan. Montclair had to die, that was certain. And the Relic had to be removed from Rivenspire, before it could do any more harm. It needed to be taken somewhere far away from the mortal world, where it would remain hidden until the end of time. He knew of such a place. But transporting the Relic there would require a heavy price. One he was prepared to pay. 

“This is all my fault. And I deserve the consequences.” He quietly said to himself, rising from the floor with renewed purpose. 

He had to act while his children were away. Wasting no time, he went to the castle cellar. There he navigated a narrow path between crates of irrelevant baubles, stacks of old furniture and rows of wine racks, until he met with a dead end. Or so it would seem. 

Whispering a melodic formula, he bit his finger, dabbing the quickly pearling droplet of blood into the solid stone. The secluded corner of the basement shone with a red light emanating from a symbol that appeared on the wall, resonating to the same glow coming from his old signet ring, a souvenir from one of his past lives. The wall then parted, revealing the Count’s private study. So private, that not even the faithful Adusa-daro knew of it’s existence. He entered and the wall silently closed behind him.

Inside, he navigated the pitch-black room and fell into a cobweb-covered chair, disturbing decades-old dust. Sheltered by the thick walls he let out an anguished cry, but he already made up his mind and knew there was no turning back now. Still, he needed a moment to gather his strength for what he was about to do.

He could spend the rest of the night whining or he could just have it over with. He sprang up, knocking the chair on its side. Paying it no mind, he lit the scattered candles with a flick of the wrist and positioned himself in the center of the small room. Slicing his palm open with the nails of his other hand, he dropped to his knees and began feverishly drawing symbols he had no business knowing, yet did. Detailed, blasphemous symbols even the most adept cultist would think twice before using. Yet, there he was, the good Count Verandis Ravenwatch, about to summon the one he spent millennia defying, hoping to strike a deal. 

His work done, he hung his head at the center of the summoning circle, whispering an incantation he never thought would come out of his mouth willingly. One, that would make both mortals and undead recoil in horror. 

There was only silence. Did he make a mistake? Was there an error in the symbols? Did he mess up his incantation? Or perhaps his desperate pleas fell on def ears? He tried to get up, but his body suddenly refused to cooperate. The study felt cold, and he could sense someone’s overwhelming presence.

An invisible hand closed around his throat, and although Verandis needn’t breathe, he could feel his life being slowly squeezed out of him. 

**“Who do I see on his knees, begging for my attention?”** Molag Bal’s chilling voice echoed through the small space. **“Verandis. Why have you summoned me wretch? Better yet, give me a reason to not tear you to pieces for conspiring against me.”**

The Count gripped the invisible fingers pressing down on his throat, fighting tears pooling into the corners of his eyes. The details of the room blurred, and he felt he was soon going to lose consciousness, perhaps even his un-life.

“I-I came to beg for your help.” He croaked through his clenched windpipe. 

The icy fingers eased their grip, but remained wrapped around his neck.

**“Beg. Yes, I like the sound of that word coming from you… Speak, then.”**

“My Lord, I summoned you to beg your aid in protecting Rivenspire from the Ayleid relic I so foolishly corrupted. I beg of you, please let me stow it in the deepest pits of Coldharbour where it can no longer pose a threat to any mortal soul.” 

The Prince laughed, genuinely amused. **“What a bold request! Asking the Lord of Brutality to save the mortals from certain doom! Fool, do you expect me to be swayed by your little relic? It holds no value to me, I can corrupt mortals with my curse myself! You better offer me something better to have me even consider your pathetic request.”**

Verandis thought of his House and his beloved children. Of the people of Rivenspire. Of his ages long-quest to forge an alliance between mortals and his own kind. His voice, though pleading, had not faltered as he made his offer.

“If you agree to take the Relic to Coldharbour, then I will come along with it. I will submit myself to you willingly and accept you as my Master.” 

**“Sentimental fool!”** Molag Bal mocked, throwing him against the wall like a child’s plaything. **“I am nothing if not patient, Verandis. One night your life will end and you will fall straight into my arms. I own you.”**

Trembling, Verandis rolled from his back to his stomach, rising on his knees and elbows, hanging his head low, groveling before the one that corrupted him ages ago. He had a convincing argument up his sleeve. One, Molag Bal would be sure to take interest in. One that made him feel betrayal burn deep down inside, but he had no other choice.

“True. I was always at your mercy. The centuries I spent trying to act against my nature are insignificant to you. It makes no difference whether I prolong my inevitable fate until the end of time or be dragged to Coldharbour this very moment.” He spoke, feeling blood drip down the back of his head from where his skull met with the wall. “Yet… My submission would be your victory against the Dunmer that dares meddle in your affairs. I’m sure it would be a personal blow to his pride, one from which he perhaps never recovers… Especially, as he is now more vulnerable than ever, after you deprived him of his revenge on Mannimarco. Imagine how bruised his ego will be if you claim me as well.”

The cruel laugh that followed nearly deafened him. He closed his eyes shut, laying on his stomach like a worm, quietly whispering apologies to the Dunmer in question.

 **“Ah, Verandis. That’s what I like about you. Even when you think you are doing something noble like sacrificing yourself to me, you still bring someone grief in the process. What sweet irony… Fine, I accept your offer. Now go, finish wrapping up your mess, I will be watching. But the moment your hand touches the Relic, you’re mine. Forever.”**

The Prince’s mocking laughter echoed through the room, even after he was long gone, leaving Verandis trembling on the floor in a pool of his own blood and tears. But the deal was sealed, and he had to see it through.

“I’m so sorry Dio…” He whispered, still too shaken to risk getting up. “But it’s all for the best, you’ll see.” 

\---

“Come on you bastard! I’m waiting!” Dio taunted, prancing under the stirring Anchor, careful not to trip over the smoldering bodies of slain daedra. “What else have you got?”

“He’s daring Bal himself?!” Gwendis whispered bewildered, looking up at Darien. “He’s truly mad.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” The man nodded, shaking droplets of dark daedric blood off his shield. 

He took a look around the now quiet dolmen. Sadly, Dorell’s personal soldiers were nothing compared to Emeric’s Lion Guard and were almost instantly decimated by Molag Bal’s horde. He looked at Skordo, shook his head and let out a sigh, well aware he was the one responsible for their deaths. The Orc crossed his brows, but made no comment. 

“Something’s happening! Get ready!” Janeve warned tensely, but her weapon remained firmly in her grasp.

 **“Foolish little tick. You swell with pride, fumbling in your ignorance, unknowingly carrying out my bidding.”** Molag Bal spoke from Coldharbour, chilling the hearts of both the mortals and undead below. **“Good. The more prideful you become the more I will enjoy seeing you break. And break you will.”**

“TRY ME!!!” Dio screamed from the top of his lungs, shaking his fists in the howling wind. 

The portal above discharged white lightning, temporarily blinding the defenders and knocking the arrogant elf off his feet. He picked himself off the ground and shook his head, fighting the ringing in his ears. Once the piercing sound ceased and his vision re-focused, he stood face to face with a writhing mass of tentacles framing a glaring, unblinking eye. A Watcher.

“Well, now you’ve done it!” Skordo yelled as the group maneuvered to surround the daedra.

The Dunmer cackled in response, summoning lightning to their aid.


End file.
